Nerdfighteria Island
by JustGoogleIt
Summary: *Complete!* (In which drama, miscommunication, and peer pressure threaten to destroy an entire civilization) There has been a very grave incident on Nerdfighteria Island. Phil is in the hospital, Alex Day is in protective custody, and rumor is Carrie Hope Fletcher started a guerrilla war. Drama and miscommunication abound, but thirteen testimonies promise to set the record straight
1. John & Hank

_**A/N & TW:** Please be aware that this particular fic contains both Tom Milsom and Alex Day as fairly prominent characters. For the record, the story was completely written and published long before any of the allegations against these men came to light and has nothing to do with that situation, but if you are in any way triggered by those events, please exercise your best judgement in whether or not you choose to proceed. Stay safe everyone._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 - In Which the Island is in Uproar<strong>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Saturday, November 9th, 2013<strong>_

**(5:36 A.M.)**

"Fellow Nerdfighters, vloggers, and socially awkward friends, I think you all know why we are gathered here today," John Green, co-founder of the now-infamous Nerdfighteria Island, began. Beside him on the stage, Hank Green—the other co-founder—was staring off in the opposite direction of his brother, arms crossed over his chest. The various audience members looked uncomfortable, as though they could sense just how fragile the situation must be if even their leaders weren't getting along.

Or it could have been from the fact that it was 5:30 in the morning, no one had slept yet, and they'd all been through a severe trauma. Either way.

"Though we understand that this has been a very difficult time for all of you, we must—"

"Where's Alex?" someone in the crowd shouted. Immediately the room erupted with noise as the audience members frantically sought more information:

"Yeah, where is he?!"

"Why isn't Alex here?"

"Has anyone seen him since the battle?"

"Did he really go mad?!"

"Are you gonna deport him?"

"Is it true that he blew up the Town Square?!"

John sighed and head-desked against the lectern dramatically. "Quiet, everyone!" he groaned. "Please be quiet!"

Hank rolled his eyes and gently claimed the microphone. "Okay, guys, listen up! We are all stressed out about the recent events—"

"Catastrophe," John mumbled into the surface of his pseudo-desk.

"…Catastrophe," Hank continued with a half-loving glare at his older brother. "We are well aware that you all want answers and please rest assured that you will get them as soon as possible. In fact, that's the reason that we've gathered you all here now."

John gazed out at the rows of audience members. "Benjamin Cook? Ciaran O'Brien?"

"Here," Ben replied. He stood up from his fourth-row seat and waved awkwardly at the rest of the audience members. Ciaran followed suit.

"Thank you." John nodded to them before addressing the group again. "As many of you know, Ben and Ciaran have been visiting our island for the past few days in order to film promotional videos."

Ciaran let out a snort of amusement at the thought. No one would be moving there now.

John ignored him and went on. "In order to obtain the most accurate report of the incident possible, we have decided to compile video testimonies from those most involved. Because they have some experience in this area, Ben has agreed to conduct the interviews while Ciaran films them."

Carrie Fletcher's hand shot up in the air.

"Yes?" Hank asked.

"Okay, no offence to Ben," she said, "but why him? Shouldn't we have some sort of professional doing this?"

"I am a professional," Ben shot back.

"You're a professional reporter," she retorted. "I mean, considering howserious this is, shouldn't the interviews be done by like, the police? Or a psychiatrist?"

"Ideally, yes, we would prefer to have a counselor," Hank replied, "but with the current immigration situation as it is, it's important that we deal with this matter privately. We had to make do."

"Thanks," Ben called sarcastically.

John picked it up. "I mean, we thought it through, and an investigative reporter is not that different from a counselor. We have to work with what we have available. Plus, Ben has assured us that he will be both unbiased and respectful while conducting the interviews. Right, Ben?"

Ben nodded. "Absolutely."

"So there is nothing to worry about. Okay, then if that's the only question—"

"Where's Alex?!" several voices chorused from the back of the room.

John sighed. "Alex Day is currently being held in custody, but we ask that you please refrain from making any assumptions as to his involvement until we have more information. That is all we know for now. Okay, are there any questions not about Alex Day?"

Dan Howell stood up from his seat in the crowd. "Phil?" he asked, his voice cracking on the vowell. "Philip Lester—where is he?"

"Phil is currently being treated for burns at the Nerdfighterian Hospital and I'm told his condition is stable," Hank responded gently.

"But…" Dan choked out, "how bad is it?"

John glanced sideways at his brother. "Sorry, that's all the information that we can give out at this point due to confidentiality and—"

"Just tell me if he can still see or not," Dan begged. "Please."

"Well, we don't know if the damage is permanent," Hank quickly pointed out. A collective gasp came from the crowd and John shot his brother a look which clearly said, 'Shut up you've said too much'.

Dan looked like he was deciding whether to pass out or start another riot. "Oh my god," he muttered anxiously, his blank stare not changing as he sunk back into his seat. "Oh my god, oh my god. It's my fault. Oh shit… Peej, he'sblind!"

"Dan, just breathe," PJ Liguori leaned over and whispered whilst the Green brothers continued to answer questions from concerned citizens. "It wasn't your fault. Phil was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"It's my fucking fault and you know it!" Dan shot back under his breath. He covered his face with his hands. "He's gonna hate me," Dan mumbled into them. "Oh god, I ruined his life!"

"Well… it's not like you did it on purpose?" PJ tried again. "It was an accident."

"He's fucking blind!" Dan whimpered. "And it's my fault!"

"Um…" PJ couldn't exactly argue with that. "Hank said it might be temporary?"

Dan didn't respond, just cried quietly into his hands. PJ awkwardly placed a hand on his friend's back, hoping it would give some comfort.

"Alright if that's all the questions," Hank concluded, "we will begin the interview process. If your name is called, please follow Ben and Ciaran out of Town Hall and over to the Creator Space for filming. Everyone else… uh, we ask that you please stay in this room until you are officially dismissed. Uh… by penalty of law."

Murmurs of confusion and fear rippled around the room.

John smiled forcedly. "Oh come on… detainment isn't that bad! I think we have 'Settlers of Catan' in the storage closet, there's a popcorn machine in the back, and if all else fails we can do musical chairs!"

It did little to lighten the mood, however.

"Never mind." John coughed. "Ben? Take it away."

"Alright." Ben stood up and turned to look at the nervous audience members. "Let's start with Mr. McDonnell."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hello Lovely reader!**

**So this story is our phandom big bang collaborative writing project! (check out the tumblr: phandombigbang) It was written, edited, and illustrated by a team of 16 people from six different countries, ranging in age from 13-26 over the course of 11 months. We had loads of fun with it (and, alright, a few meltdowns when the plot holes threatened to swallow us up completely) and it was a truly amazing experience and we really hope you enjoy our story!**

**This chapter was co-written with Jamie (tumblr: captainoftheship)**

**Thanks so much for reading! Please be sure to let us know what you think in the reviews!**

**Best wishes,**

**~Bethany**

**P.S. There's a complete list of contributors (with links) in my profile**


	2. Charlie McDonnell

****Chapter 2 - In Which Charlie McDonnell Bribes a Llama****

* * *

><p><em><strong>Saturday, November 9th, 2013<strong>_

**(6:17 A.M.)**

"Name?"

"You know my name, Ben. We've been friends for years," Charlie replied wearily. He, Ben, and Ciaran—who would be operating the camera and dealing with most of the technical aspects of the documentary—had just finished setting up in the Nerdfighteria YouTube Creator Space. The particular room they were in was small, dark, and sparsely adorned, with the exception of one large lamp aimed at Charlie from across a table. It gave off a film noir sort of vibe.

"Making a film here," Ben said shortly. "Just answer the questions please." He aimed the light on Charlie's face a bit more. "Name?"

"Charlie McDonnell."

"Colony?"

"I live in the Capital district now," he said. "Before I was in Evil Baby Orphanage, or E.B.O. as we call it."

"Occupation?"

"Official Clerical Assistant to the Nerdfighterian Mayoral Staff."

"So you're a secretary?" Ben asked with a smirk.

"Yeah… what's the problem?"

"Well… aren't secretaries usually… y'know…"

"It's called gender equality, Ben," Charlie said defensively. "It's about breaking through the patriarchal system of oppress—"

"It's fine, it's fine," Ben cut him off, "do whatever makes you happy."

"Plus, I'm very organised," Charlie added.

"Right. Let's just move on." Ben glanced down at his list of questions. "Uh… 'registered enhanced super-human ability'…?" he read off, frowning. "What the…?"

Charlie grinned sheepishly. "We generally use the term, 'superpower'."

"You have a _superpower_?"

"Just go with it." Charlie shook his head slowly. "It's only going to get worse. And you can put down 'cloning' for my power."

"You'd better be planning on explaining this," Ben muttered before reading off the next question. "Superhero name?"

"Cloning Charlie."

"That's kind of a shit name."

Charlie laughed. "I thought you were going to be 'unbiased' and 'respectful'!"

Ben shook his head. "No, I'm supposed to be unbiased regarding the incident. They never said I couldn't be biased regarding your name. I mean, did _you_ pick that? That's not even how you _do_ superhero names! You don't just list the power and then state your name. Think about it: 'Spider Peter'? 'Big Green Bruce'? 'Unnaturally Strong Clark'? That's a shitty way to title yourself."

"Well, it's technically the public that votes on the name, not the individual…"

"I'm guessing the only reason they picked it was because of that dumb video you made years back," Ben remarked.

"That 'dumb video' got like 1.8 million views and its own T-shirts."

"That's just because you wore tights."

Ciaran cleared his throat loudly from his position behind the camera.

"But getting back to our point here," Ben said, "word is that you keep up with the political situation."

"You could say that."

"So, Charlie, give us a bit of history. How did this all begin?"

Charlie took a deep breath. "Okay… it actually started a few years ago…"

**xxxxx**

Nerdfighteria Island.

Anyone who spends enough time in the Nerdfighter community hears about it eventually. Fanart depicts it, fictional maps are drawn of it, headcanon is accepted, stories are written, and songs are sung. It's a made-up safe haven: a place where nerds are free to be nerds and live together, nerding-out about all the nerdy things they enjoy without fear of outside judgement or crappy wifi connection.

The thing that most people don't know, however, is that as of the last few years, such a place actually exists.

February 8th, 2011, John and Hank Green got an incredibly good deal on a small island off the coast of Madagascar, purchased it, and started secretly working with about fifty of their most trusted Nerdfighter friends to make it inhabitable for the general public. No one actually spent much time on the island until the next year, but they allowed a few of their most trusted friends to visit during the construction period.

Although we were told by the previous owner that the island was uninhabited, we quickly discovered that that was not entirely accurate.

**xxxxx**

_**Monday, February 27th, 2012 **_

**(10:15 A.M.)**

"Llamas?" I questioned, gazing out into the field before me. "Don't llamas live in like, South America?"

It was my first day visiting the island, and Hank was showing me around. It being a tropical island, I'd been expecting the indigenous animals to reflect that… not have big woolly coats and eat grass.

"They were here when we arrived—a whole herd of them," Hank answered with a shrug. "I mean, it's definitely unusual, but with a population that large, they must be adapting just fine."

"What are you going to do about them?" I asked, trying to recall anything I knew about llamas. "I mean, are they aggressive?"

"Nah, they're pretty chill. Not to mention interesting. Sometimes, I swear they're listening to us. It's almost like they can actually understand what we're saying."

I nodded and glanced back at the quiet beasts whilst they continued to amble across the field and then the street. _I can live with llamas,_ I decided.

Over the next few months of working on the island on and off, we grew accustomed to the llamas' presence. There was something oddly pleasant about them—comforting. They just sort of… were. Gazing kindly on from the edges as we constructed buildings and paved roads.

**xxxxx**

_**Sunday, April 29th, 2012**_

**(12:40 P.M.)**

It was a couple months later, and Alex and I were spending the weekend helping out. We were sat outside, eating lunch at a picnic table near the construction site when it happened.

"So anyway," I told him excitedly, "he said that my title is going to be 'Official Clerical Assistant to The Nerdfighterian Mayoral Staff'."

"Oh, so like a secretary?" Alex asked.

"Official. Clerical. Assistant." Reaching into my backpack, I pulled out the food I had packed us earlier and gave Alex his share. It was nothing much—just some leftovers from the night before. We'd been eating for about five minutes when I hear him.

"Pardon me, messieurs," a French-accented voice politely asked from behind us, "but is that a baguette I smell?"

Both Alex and I turned around to locate the speaker, but there was nobody there.

"Who said that?" I asked confusedly. I glanced at Alex. "You heard that too, right?"

He nodded. "I don't see anyone else here though." He chuckled and pointed at the woolly creature lurking a few paces away. "Unless that llama said something!"

"Oh I did not mean to startle you," the llama went on. "It has just been such a long time since I have had a nice baguette."

"You can… talk?" I gaped at him.

A look that I can only describe as pure terror flashed across the llama's features. "_Putain_," he muttered in French. "And to borrow one of your colloquialisms… _shit_."

"Well fucking hell…" murmured Alex, staring at the beast in awe.

"I-I mean, wh… how?" I stuttered.

"Oh please, messieurs," the llama said quickly, backing away from the table. "I beg of you not to press me further. Please forget about this momentary slip of the tongue and go back to your pleasant lunch. I assure you I shall bother you no more." And with that he began walking very quickly back towards the field.

"Wait!" I called, jumping up from the table. Alex followed immediately. "Come back!"

"Oh please, please do not speak to me any more," he said as he trotted. "I will be in such trouble with Léon if he should find out I was conversing with humans!"

"But what's your name?" I asked. "At least tell us your name!"

"It is of no matter. You shall have to excuse me now, monsieur."

"I have the baguette!" interjected Alex, waving it in the air.

The llama stopped in his tracks and inhaled deeply, allowing the aroma of the freshly baked bread to tempt him. "Y-You do?"

"Yeah," Alex went on, "and I'd be happy to share it with you if you'll just tell us a little bit about yourself first. Dinner and a chat, okay?"

"I-I cannot…" the llama trailed off, looking at the food longingly. "I… Oh, but it has been so very _long_ since I have had a proper baguette!" He sighed. "We have been living off the freeze-dried stuff since… Er, oh dear, I fear I have said too much again!"

"No, no you haven't," Alex said calmly, sitting down on the grass. "We're still completely clueless, right, Charlie?"

"Clueless," I affirmed, following his lead and taking my place next to him on the ground.

Alex shrugged. "And we do have this baguette here…"

A tiny bit of drool escaped from the corner of the llama's mouth. "Please excuse my excessive salivation," he muttered, eyes still locked on the bread.

"It's fine," Alex said. "Have a seat… or lay? Or whatever llamas do."

The llama glanced back quickly to check that he was indeed alone, and then tucked his legs under him and lowered himself to the ground.

Alex broke off a small chunk of the bread and held it out to him. "Have you always been able to speak?" he asked the beast.

"Yes," the llama replied, gratefully taking the bread from Alex's outstretched palm.

"Just you, or all llamas?" I tried.

The llama swallowed the food before answering. "My entire herd speaks."

"If you don't mind me asking," Alex went on, "how did you get a French accent?"

"My herd and I spent much of our formative years growing up on the French countryside. We emulated what we heard from the townspeople with whom we occasionally came into contact."

"Wow," I remarked, "so are there many herds like yours? I mean, where you can talk?"

"No, monsieur. We are, sadly, amongst the last in existence."

"Why is that?" I pressed on as Alex ripped off another piece of the baguette to offer with my question.

"We have nearly gone extinct," he explained. He took the bread between his teeth, chewed, and swallowed it quickly. "For centuries, my species was exploited by the human world—forced into service or made into spectacles for the enjoyment of your ancestors. Due to the despicable treatment we received, most herds decided against speaking. A voiceless existence was preferable to a degraded one."

Alex handed over half of what remained of the baguette. We were both captivated by his story.

Once the llama had swallowed the bread, he continued. "However, my ancestors refused to be silenced and continued to pass the ways of speech down from generation to generation. Now my little herd is one of the only verbal herds still in existence."

"And you've lived here the whole time?" I asked. "On this island?"

He shook his head. "No, monsieur, only for a few years. We keep to ourselves, living a nomadic lifestyle, traveling from one uninhabited place to another so as not to be harassed for our gifts. I imagine we shall be moving again soon as you humans appear to be claiming this land as well."

I shot Alex a guilty glance. Nerdfighteria would be the reason that the llamas would be forced to move again. We'd be uprooting them from their homes for the sake of our little community. It was imperialism all over again.

Just, y'know, this time with llamas.

"Are you sure you'll need to leave again?" Alex asked, handing over the remainder of the baguette. "I mean, can't we just share the island with your herd? Co-exist?"

The llama smiled kindly as he ate. "Ah, how I admire the naive optimism of the youth, not yet spoilt by the harshness of reality!"

"No, really," he insisted. "This is Nerdfighteria—we're different."

And we were.

When John and Hank learned of the llamas' abilities, they offered them citizenship in our community. This meant that they could work just like everyone else and, in exchange, receive benefits from the government. The llamas accepted eagerly. They were such amazing workers too, with such a variety of useful skills. After passing a medical licensing examination, several of them were even certified to work as doctors at the hospital. By the time the first wave of settlers came in September of 2012, almost all of them had risen to positions of authority in their chosen career fields. Not to mention they always won employee of the month.

Then, things got a bit weird.

**xxxxx**

"Oh _then _things got weird, did they?" Ben questioned. He'd been jotting down notes on a legal pad as Charlie spoke and looking as though he didn't believe a word of this.

"Well, I suppose they always were a bit weird," Charlie acknowledged, "but I mean that's when people started getting superpowers."

"Right," Ben said sceptically, "let's talk about that. When exactly did these 'superpowers'… develop?"

"Uh… it was right around when the first group of us moved in, so that would be September 2012," Charlie answered. "There were about 150 of us who moved in then, including me and Alex."

Ben shut his eyes tightly for a moment and ran his fingers through his unnaturally red hair. "And you say you developed the ability to _clone yourself_?"

"Look, I know it sounds mental," Charlie said, "but it just kinda… worked out that way. Everyone else did too—develop a power that is."

"And you all just… _accepted_ that?"

"Well… yeah. The llamas said that it was normal—a consequence of living in a place so devoid of world suck. We had no other explanation for why people were developing special abilities, so it seemed as good a reason as any."

Ben nodded slowly. "Alright, so now that we've established some of the history, let's try something more current. The question on everyone's mind… what became of the great ship Cherimon?"

Charlie groaned loudly. "Alex and I were never together! Look, I don't know how many times I have to say it but we're just friends, okay?"

"But when the two of you immigrated to the island, you were living together, but then this—" he checked in one of the folders on his desk, "_August_, you broke up," Ben continued. "Why?"

"We weren't ever 'together' so we never 'broke up'," Charlie corrected. "We just mutually decided to stop living together because my official responsibilities to the community made it more convenient for me to live closer to the Capitol."

"Right, that's the official statement…" Ben leaned in a bit closer, "but what _really_ happened?"

"That _is_ what really happened!"

Ben raised his eyebrows suspiciously. "Charlie, you're a terrible liar."

Charlie sighed deeply. "Fine. That's _part_ of what really happened."

"Go on."

"We had a fight, alright? I moved out."

"Why?"

"Alex… he… he went a bit…" Charlie looked at the floor, clearly uncomfortable, "mad."

"Could you elaborate on that?" Ben requested, flipping a page in his notebook.

"I'm not really the best person to ask. At the time, I was really involved with the political situation and stuff, so most of what I know is second-hand."

"But what was the fight about?"

"Just some tactics that he was using. For music stuff…" Charlie's words drifted off. "Look, can you just ask someone else? I've told you all I want to say."

Ben nodded and signaled for Ciaran to stop filming. Charlie let out a sigh of relief and rested his elbows on the table, holding his face in his hands.

"Sorry about that," Ben apologised. "I got a bit carried away."

"It's fine, it's not you," Charlie muttered. "It's just…"

"Just what?" Ben asked quietly.

"Just… maybe if I'd stuck with him, I could've kept this from happening," he almost whispered.

"It's not your fault, mate. You can't focus on what might've happened."

"Well it's less painful than focusing on what did happen!"

And with that, he stood and walked out of the studio, shutting the door forcefully behind him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Lilly (tumblr: kawaiiphan)**


	3. Carrie Hope Fletcher

**Chapter 3 - In Which Carrie Gets Her Wings**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Saturday, November 9th, 2013<strong>_

**(9:09 A.M.)**

"Alright, you ready, Ciaran? Maybe we should aim the light a bit more towards her face," Ben suggested. His cameraman adjusted the intimidating lights slightly as Ben took his seat at the table.

"Ready when you are," Ciaran announced.

Seated opposite him, Carrie sighed deeply. "I really don't want to do this," she said quietly.

"Yeah, that's the general consensus… but don't worry, you'll be fine," Ben reassured.

"Ben, I feel like I'm being interrogated." She gestured at the intrusive lights, which shone directly on her, leaving the rest of the room ominously dark. "And these lights really aren't helping!"

"Sorry about that." He grinned. "But it looks fucking cool on camera!"

"Fucking cool," Ciaran agreed with a sincere nod.

"We're just going to ask you some questions," Ben continued. "All you have to do is talk to me as if we're having a completely normal conversation. Don't even think about the cameras. Just you and me, alright?"

"It's not really the cameras that I'm having the problem with," she stated.

"Look, all I need is your story, Carrie. I can't very well skip over you—you were somewhat of a major player here."

Carrie nodded. She couldn't deny the truth in that. "Alright, fine," she sighed again, "let's get it over with."

"And… action," Ciaran called.

"Name?" Ben requested.

"Carrie Hope Fletcher."

"Colony?"

"Swindon Town," she said, then added under her breath, "Instead of E.B.O."

Ben made a note on his legal pad, but continued on. "Occupation?"

"Singer, songwriter… actress. It depends."

"Registered enhanced super-human ability?" he read off the question sheet again.

"Flight," she mumbled.

"Superhero name?"

"Rising Hope."

He grinned. "Now that's catchy! That's how you do a superhero name. Well done."

She smiled a bit at that. "Thanks."

With the required questions out of the way, Ben deviated from the script. "Now, you just moved here recently, correct?" he asked.

"A few months ago. I've been here since September."

"So the immigration procedure is still fresh in your mind?"

"I guess so."

"Tell us then, what was it like to move to Nerdfighteria?"

She sighed and rested her head in her hands. "It all started on what should have been one of the best days of my life…"

**xxxxx**

Dear Ms. Fletcher:

Congratulations! Nerdfighteria is pleased to receive your application and accept you into the Community of People Against World Suck.

Please arrive at Kings Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters on Monday, September 2nd, 9:00 A.M.

As Nerdfighteria is an island and therefore not accessible by train, there is no particular reason for this except that we needed a place to assemble before boarding our private flight and we thought it'd be kinda cool because then we can just pretend we're going to Hogwarts, ya feel?

(Hank informs me that since this is a formal letter I should refrain from using tumblr-speak) (Hank smells)

The following is the mandatory reading list. There will be a test:

*_The Great Gatsby in Your Pants_

*_The Catcher in the Rye in Your Pants_

* _Harry Potter in Your Pants_ (series)

* _Last Words of Notable People in Your Pants_

* _The Lord of the Rings in Your Pants_ (series)

* _Monty Python and the Holy Grail in Your Pants_ (this is not technically a book but it is still flippin' hilarious and no one should be deprived of the joy that it brings)

* _The John Green Box Set in Your Pants_

(which Hank informs me is somewhat narcissistic) (did I mention Hank smells?) (Alright fine, it won't be on the test)

Peanut butter will be provided for the initiation ceremony, but may be substituted for Sharpie in the event of allergies. Please provide advance warning if this applies to you.

Please also remember to bring a small item which you feel adequately represents your personality to balance on your head for the annual Put Stuff On Your Head contest. The winner will receive a Petco gift certificate for a lifetime supply of puppy-sized elephant chow.

(I was going to make the prize leather-bound copies of all my books, but Hank was like, blah blah blah… something about the ecosystem… who knows. Y'know, sometimes he's really friggin' boring)

Upon your arrival on the island, there will be a short series of requirements which must be completed prior to the initiation ceremony, the first of which is a brief test regarding the history of the island. You will find a study guide enclosed within. Additionally, CGPGrey has kindly summarized the most important points into two unlisted YouTube videos (links below—er, actually we'll email the links to you) to aid you in your studies.

Ms. Fletcher, on behalf of the entire Nerdfighting community, we welcome you and wish you all the best in your Pursuit of Awesome. If you should have any questions, please feel free to consult our admissions office. (Send an owl if you have one—that would be _sweet_)

Have a wonderful summer, Ms. Fletcher, and please Don't Forget To Be Awesome.

Best wishes,

_John Green Co-Mayor of Nerfighteria Island (and his less attractive, smellier brother, Hank) _

_Island of Nerdfighteria, Executive Dept. _

_2007 N. Phineas Gage Ave. _

_Nerdfighteria Island Capital, Nerdfighteria 62442 _

_Phone: +3 (141) 592-6535 ex. 8979_

**xxxxx**

_**Monday, June 3rd, 2013**_

**(11:21 A.M.)**

As soon as I stopped squealing, I called him.

"I GOT IN!" I screamed into my phone. "I'M IN! I'M IN! I'M IN! I'M IN! I'M IN!"

"And I'm deaf," came his muttered response.

"Oh shut up, Alex!" I laughed. "This is only the most exciting thing that has happened to me since Les Mis. The least you could do is _pretend_ to be happy for me!"

"I'm happy for you," Alex Day replied unenthusiastically.

I was confused. "You… you do want me there, right?" I asked tentatively.

See, Alex had been one of the original group of settlers on the island so he'd emigrated back in 2012, nearly a full year ago. Actually, many of my YouTube friends had gone, but I hadn't joined them because I'd just been cast as Eponine in the West End production of the greatest musical ever made: _Les Misérables_. It was a literal dream come true and, as much as I'd wanted to be a part of the initial group of settlers, I wasn't about to give up my greatest childhood ambition. So I'd postponed my application for a year, meaning that I would not necessarily be guaranteed acceptance.

It was a good year, but also difficult with so many of my friends gone. We'd still text, email, and skype of course, but it just wasn't the same. Not to mention that I'd spent the last month nervously going through the mail each day, wondering if my letter would ever come.

"Of course I want you here," Alex said. "I'm very happy for you."

He didn't sound it though. His voice was different: strange and slow… almost sad. Basically, the complete opposite of what I'd been expecting him to sound like when I told him the news. "Are you okay, Alex?" I tired. "You sound kind of down."

"Yeah… I've just been thinking about… things," he answered slowly, "and… stuff…" His voice drifted off and there was an awkward silence for a moment.

"Alex…?" I asked finally.

That seemed to snap him out of it. "Sorry, what's the question again?"

"Are you okay?" I repeated, slightly concerned. "Did I wake you or something?" I quickly checked the time and performed the mental calculations to adjust for his time zone so as to be sure I hadn't called him at an obscenely early hour—but it was only half two in the afternoon for him.

"No, I'm fine… things are great… people like my music… and stuff."

"That's great, Alex!" I said encouragingly. "I can't wait to hear some of the new songs you've been telling me about. What's the name of that one with—"

"I'm kind of tired, Carrie," he interrupted. "Maybe we should… just talk later, okay?"

"You sound it," I said, trying not to let the hurt show in my voice. I was confused. Did I say something wrong? Was I being annoying? I couldn't think of what I could have possibly done to upset him, so I just told him I'd see him soon and ended the call.

What I didn't know was that that would be the last civil conversation Alex and I would have for weeks.

**xxxxx**

_**Monday, September 9th, 2013**_

**(7:45 P.M.)**

I'd been living on the island for one week. It was three days before I was scheduled to meet with the immigration official to finish up the final paperwork before my new citizen initiation ceremony and I was hanging out with a few friends. Alex was noticeably absent. In fact, he was pretty much the only one of my friends who hadn't visited me yet. Granted, his new album was set to be released soon, so it made sense that he would be focusing on that. Or that was what I told myself, anyway.

It was going quite well until Jack Howard brought up a little detail that I guess everyone had forgotten to mention…

"What do you mean I have to 'document my superpower'?!" I spluttered, nearly choking on my drink from shock. "What superpower? Who said anything about superpowers? The brochure didn't! The history books didn't! The website with all the pictures of the happy, smiling Nerdfighters sure didn't!"

"Carrie, Carrie! Calm down," Jack said reassuringly. "You'll be alright."

"I don't have a superpower though! You're telling me that everyone else has a superpower? No one thought to tell me, in the week I've been here, that I'm supposed to have a superpower?!"

"None of us had a power when we first arrived," he explained. "They usually develop within the first week or so."

"It's like puberty, but actually cool," Dean Dobbs added.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, "they say it's something to do with the environment here—it's just so devoid of world suck that certain abilities are amplified or whatever… I don't really understand it. But we're not even allowed to use them, so it doesn't really matter."

"Why aren't we allowed to use them?" I asked, now thoroughly confused.

"They're for emergencies only," Jack explained. "But we have to register them, just in case any Decepticons attack…" He seemed to consider something for the first time. "I guess it's the closest thing we have to an armed forces, isn't it?"

"But you're saying not everyone gets a power?" I asked nervously. It'd be just my luck that I'd wind up the odd one out.

"Most of the 'older generation' didn't get them," he said, making air quotes around the term. "John, Hank, Ze Frank, Mickeleh…"

"And what if I'm one of them? What if I don't get a power and I'm just…" I thought for a second, unsure if there was a superhero equivalent for the term 'muggle'.

"Ordinary?" suggested Dean.

"Exactly. Then what?"

Dean smiled and shook his head slowly. "You'll get one. Almost everyone does, okay? And even if you don't, no one will look at you any differently… at least I won't."

"I won't either," Jack added. "I know some Ordinaries—well, one anyway—and it doesn't really change anything."

"Promise?" I asked.

"Promise."

**xxxxx**

_**Thursday, September 12th, 2013 **_

**(10:00 A.M.)**

As the days pressed on, my appointment with the immigration official was fast approaching and I knew I would have to register my 'superpower'. Honestly, by that point I was willing to accept anything; I didn't care if it was super-strength or super-sonic eyebrow-plucking, just so long as I could put something down in the records.

See, the longer I lived on the island, the harder it was to believe that I'd ever really fit in with all of these awesome people. And I don't just mean creatively or professionally. Apparently, Phil Lester could talk to animals, Dean Dobbs could become "relatively invisible", whatever that meant, and PJ Liguori controlled the weather.

By the time I wobbled into the office that morning, I felt like I was walking to my death. I was convinced they'd tell me I didn't belong, they'd send me back home, they'd revoke my temporary citizenship visa, they'd laugh at me as I packed my bags and boarded the—

"Hey Carrie," Charlie McDonnell greeted from behind his desk at the registry, interrupting my anxious thoughts. He sat up to his ears in stacks of paperwork. "How are you?"

"_Good_," I squeaked in response, then cleared my throat and tried again. "I mean, good. Um, I'm here for my immigration appointment…?"

"Oh, don't be nervous," he said, grinning, "it's not bad at all." With that reassurance, Charlie led me down the hallway to the immigration official's office and proceeded to rap on the wooden door. "Sir?" he called in.

"_Oui_?" came the reply.

"Ms. Fletcher is here for her ten o'clock," he announced.

"Oh, but of course! Send her in!" came the cheery, thickly French-accented voice. Immediately, I felt some of the tension dissipate at his kind tone… but then, in one glimpse into the office, it was completely replaced by confusion.

I jumped back quickly. "Uh, Charlie?" I whispered, "where is the immigration official?"

"You're looking at him," Charlie replied with a smile.

I stared at the hairy, smiling beast in front of me. "But… that's an animal," I whispered out of the side of my mouth.

"Don't be racist," he chided. "He's just French."

"I, um… I'm not… I…" I stammered. I just stared at the official in awe. The elongated face, the bulging teeth, the furry neck, the ears on top of his head, the hooves… I turned back to Charlie. "Look, I know French people, I have nothing against French people," I whispered urgently, "but… uh… I'm pretty sure that's a _llama_."

"_Oui_," replied the llama happily. "I am French the Llama. I am also French and I am also a llama. For simplicity's sake, you may call me French. Pleased to meet you, Miss Fletcher."

I involuntarily gripped Charlie's arm in shock. "He can talk," I stated.

"Oh!" Charlie exclaimed, realisation finally hitting him. "I'm sorry, Carrie! I forgot you two haven't met yet. This is French. He's the immigration official. He's also a talking llama."

"I'd actually gathered that much by now," I said flatly, not taking my eyes off the impossible sight in front of me.

"_Bonjour, Mademoiselle_!" French greeted, waving a hoof.

"He's great," Charlie went on. "Everyone loves French."

"Monsieur, you are too kind," the llama replied. He bowed his enormous head a bit and I swear I saw a blush appearing on his furry face.

"So, when John and Hank purchased the island, they discovered that it was already populated by a small herd of llamas. With llamas being one of the most popular animals on the internet—right up there with cats and babies—they decided to live and let live. Around that time, we realised that the llamas could talk…"

I took a deep breath as Charlie carried on with his explanation. It was hard to decide if everyone was just playing some horrible prank on me or if I was living on an island of crack-heads.

"So, since they can talk…" I asked once he'd finished, "you guys gave them jobs? In immigration?

"No, they have all kinds of jobs besides immigration," Charlie explained. "Let's see… Théo is the community radio producer, Camille works in island advertising and promotion, Emilia is charge of the new citizen initiation ceremony, and uh…" Charlie turned towards the official, "what does Felix do again, French?"

"I believe Felix works in the recording studio," French supplied helpfully.

"Ah, right. Thanks." Charlie looked back at me and shrugged. "Then there are maybe like eight at the hospital and a few in law enforcement. The llamas said that they wanted to help out, and being natives, they do have extensive knowledge of the island…"

"It is the least we can do for this wonderful community," French added modestly.

"…so we offered them positions. It turns out llamas are natural leaders," Charlie concluded.

"That's… very impressive," I said, the shock finally beginning to wear off. If this was all a prank, it was certainly an elaborate one. I figured I might as well play along.

"Yep," Charlie agreed. "Well, I should be getting back to the front desk now. I'm not really supposed to leave my post unattended for very long." His gaze traveled down to his forearm, where I was still clutching him tightly.

I quickly released my grip. "Of course," I replied. "Thanks for showing me to the office."

"Anytime," Charlie said as he headed out of the room. That left just me and the llama.

"Come, have a seat!" French called cheerily. He used a hoof to poke the _on_button on the little radio next to him, which began playing a calming, classical piece in the background. "Tell me all about yourself, Miss Fletcher!"

"Please, call me Carrie." I tried to match his warm tone, but I was in a daze as I moved across the room towards the chair.

The two of us sat there for at least an hour, chatting all about my life, YouTube channel, acting career, family, and friends… the works. French just kept on asking questions. The experience was kind of like talking to an old person who lives in a nursing home; he was really interested in everything that I had to say. After only a few minutes, all my nervousness melted away and it felt like hanging out with a best friend.

Y'know, a best friend who just happened to be a talking French llama.

Towards the end of our meeting—which surely ran over the allotted time—French brought up the one question I had been dreading all day.

"Alright, Carrie," he began, "and finally, you mentioned that you arrived here ten days ago now, so have you noticed any enhanced abilities that I need to document?"

"Oh, um, you mean like… superpowers?" I asked timidly.

"That is the colloquial term, yes."

I hung my head and sighed. "No, sir. I think I might be, um… an Ordinary."

All at once, all my fear and anxiety came rushing back to me like a tidal wave and I wanted to just get away and cry. Who was I kidding? I didn't belong in Nerdfighteria. Who was I to think that I would fit in amongst all these amazing people? I mean, the llama talked for goodness sake! How could I compare to that?

French seemed to instantly sense my inner turmoil as his jovial tone changed to a much gentler one. "Oh, Carrie," he consoled, resting a furry hoof gently on my hand. "You are _far_ from ordinary."

"But I don't have a power," I said, my voice tight as I focused on not letting the tears fall. "I'm not special."

He thought for a moment and then abruptly stood up on his four legs and trotted to the closet on the other side of the office. Rummaging through with his head, he pulled out something large and feathery, gripping it between his teeth.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Your wings," he said (although with his mouth full it sounded a bit more like 'yuffhings'). French trotted back over to where I was seated and made a motion with his head to indicate I should stand.

I followed his non-verbal orders, and he dropped the wings into my arms. They were gorgeous—light, feathery, soft, and flexible. They spanned at least half my height, and there were straps on the back to attach them to my shoulders like a backpack.

"Please, try them on," the official continued. I strapped them on over my dress. They fit perfectly.

"They're gorgeous," I said wistfully, spinning around and letting them flutter behind me, brushing lightly across my face.

"I am so glad you agree, Mademoiselle!" French declared happily. "Then I shall mark you down for flight."

"I can fly?" I asked, astonished.

He chuckled—which was a very odd sound coming from a French llama—and shook his head. "I am sorry, but it does not work that way." He smiled. "You cannot _actually_ fly."

As silly as it sounds, I was disappointed. I should have known that I couldn't just strap on a pair of fake wings and suddenly be able to fly; how would that even work? Still, so many strange and inexplicable things seemed possible on that this island that for a moment, I had dared to hope.

"Then I don't understand," I said. "Why are you listing me as having the power of flight if I can't actually fly?"

French sighed deeply. "As much as we are trying to make Nerdfighteria a land devoid of world suck and judgment, we are still human…" he chuckled again, "well, _I_ am not human, but you lot are. You humans may say that you would never judge one another based on ability or disability, but you lie. Those who have always come out better than those who have not." He sighed again. "It is a sad fact of life, my dear. If you wish to be accepted in a world of haves, you must either have or _act like_ you have as well."

"Wait," I protested, "you're asking me to lie to the government about the fact that I'm powerless? And to my own friends?"

"No, no, not at all," he quickly corrected himself. "I am merely suggesting that you leave out a few… facts."

"I don't need to do that," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt. "My friends will accept me for who I am no matter what."

"Craig Benzine is a garbage collector," the llama said shortly.

"What?"

"Craig Benzine—wheezywaiter. He collects garbage," French explained. "Craig never developed a superpower, so he became a garbage collector. He always wanted to be a comedian, but… well, why would you hire an ordinary comedian when you could have a _super_ comedian? He could not find work, so he had to pick a less desirable occupation."

I frowned and nodded slowly, allowing this realisation to sink in; if I wanted to stay on the island, I would either be doomed to life as a second-class citizen or a liar.

It was as if he were reading my mind. "There is a third option you know, Carrie," he said sweetly. "You take the wings, and let them all assume that your power is flight. Remember, unnecessary display of superpowers is taboo at best and illegal at worst, so the chance of you getting pressed further is very small. On the official documents, I will just mark that you have 'acquired avian features', which is technically true. No one needs to know anything else."

**xxxxx**

Carrie sighed deeply and hung her head in shame.

"So, you took the wings?" Ben asked gently.

She nodded. "I didn't know what else to do, Ben! I felt bad about it, but at the same time… Do you have any idea how long I'd been waiting to come to Nerdfighteria? I was finally going to be with my friends again. It meant everything to me and I didn't want to do anything to mess it up."

"Because you didn't trust that they could accept you as an Ordinary?"

Her eyes welled up with tears, but she brushed them away quickly. "I wasn't about to take that risk."

"And, about Alex…" Ben began.

"No," she cut him off. "I've said all I'm going to say about Alex."

"Carrie, we need to—"

"Please stop," she whispered. "You can ask someone else."

"But, the two of you—"

"Ben," she said firmly. "Ask. Someone. Else."

"Sounds good," Ciaran cut in. He promptly stopped filming and switched the lights back to their natural state. "Right, Ben?" he asked pointedly.

Ben sighed. "Right. Thanks for stopping by. We'll let you know if you're needed for further questioning."

"Thank you," Carrie replied gratefully as she stood to leave. "And Ben?"

"Yeah?" he said.

"I don't care what anyone says, okay? Alex may have been… _misguided_, but he's not evil and he's not insane."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Emma (tumblr: where-is-the-adventure) **


	4. Tom Milsom

**Chapter 4 - In Which Tom Milsom Overhears an Intervention**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Saturday, November 9th, 2013<strong>_

**(11:41 A.M.)**

"Oh, I'll tell you right now: he's fucking mental."

Ben chuckled at his distinctively blue-haired interviewee. "I'm glad _someone's_ still okay with talking about this. Let's start with the required questions though before we get too far into it, alright?"

"Yeah, fine," Tom agreed.

Ciaran readied the cameras and filming commenced.

"Name?" Ben asked.

"Tom Milsom."

"Colony?"

"E.B.O."

"Occupation?"

"Musician."

"Registered superpower?" Ben requested.

"Echolocation," Tom replied.

"Now _that_ is a shit power."

Tom laughed. "Oh? How so?"

"Why would you need echolocation?" Ben asked. "I mean, it might make sense if you were blind or something, but you can already see!"

"But not at night though," Tom countered, waving his arms with more animated gestures as he became more excited. "Echolocation is fucking cool, okay? It's like your brain is automatically doing all these calculations to determine everything you need to know about your surroundings. You pick how much sensory input you want; if you don't send out signals, you don't receive information. If you want more information, you just send out more signals. It's really cool!"

"Well, as long as you're satisfied with it, I guess," the interviewer conceded. "What's your superhero name?"

Tom's grin faded at the recollection. "I just go by 'Tom'."

"Come on, man, what's the name?"

"I didn't pick it," Tom said defensively. "The public chooses the names."

"Right…" Ben began, "and yours is...?"

Tom sighed deeply. "Batkid."

Ben laughed. "Wasn't that name taken already? Didn't you have to be like, 'Batkid72' or something?"

"I had _so many_ good ideas for names," Tom groaned. "I could have been like 'The Nightcrawler' or the 'Sonic Shrieker' or even some stupid pun like 'Call and Response' would have been better than fucking _Batkid_! It's not even accurate—I'm not a bat!"

"It's okay, Tom…"

"No it's not! God! Are people actually so ignorant that they think the only animal that uses echolocation is a bat? I mean honestly, there are birds and dolphins and—"

"Tom," Ben interrupted.

"...whales—"

"Tom."

"...fucking _shrews, _Ben! They forgot about the fucking shrews!"

"Tom!" Ben shouted. "Focus! We have a lot of interviews to get through!"

Tom grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. Go ahead."

Ben sighed. "Alright, so moving on from the fact people weren't feeling very creative when they voted on your name, what can you tell us about Alex Day?"

"Fucking mental," Tom concluded.

"And how did you come to this conclusion?"

Tom scoffed. "Oh, where to begin?"

**xxxxx**

_**Tuesday, March 12th, 2013**_

**(3:45 P.M.)**

Alright, I'd known Alex longer than most of the people here and it was obvious that something was drastically different about him. Towards the beginning of 2013, Alex's musical career had really slowed down and—understandably—he wasn't too happy about it. But I knew it was bad when he started letting the YouTube comments get to him.

"Do you think I'm 'straying too far from my roots'?" he asked me that afternoon as we were hanging out at my flat. I'd been trying to show him this really epic part of a song I was working on, but he wasn't really paying attention as he scrolled through comments on his laptop. "With my newer music I mean."

"Is that what they're saying?" I asked over the instrument.

He nodded.

"Do _you_ think you are?"

"I don't know." He shrugged. "I mean, I _have_ changed…"

"Well, who says you have to be the same person you were when you started making music? You're allowed to change. If they don't like it, they can go fuck themselves."

He smiled a bit, but I could tell he wasn't convinced.

"Don't let it get to you. Just do what makes you happy," I advised. Still, he seemed out of it that day. Every time I'd try to get him to do something, he'd just keep getting drawn back to the Internet and the opinions.

"Maybe I need to study more of what I was doing before," he later said. "I mean, maybe there's… _something _that I used to have in my songs that I just don't have anymore. They're saying I sound too 'professional' and 'produced' now…"

"Are you even listening to yourself?" I asked. "You've gotten _better_. Anyone with a brain can see that. Don't try to undo all your growth."

"I'm not, I just think maybe I need to go back and look at what I used to do. Maybe I'll figure out what everyone tells me is _missing_ from my new stuff. That's all."

I shrugged. "Knock yourself out—they're your own songs. But don't get too obsessed with it, okay? The numbers aren't the only thing that matters."

"I'm not going to get obsessed!" Alex laughed.

**xxxxx**

"I'm guessing he got obsessed?" Ben ventured.

"Completely." Tom nodded. "After that day, Alex started spending an _incredible_ amount of time in the studio working with his older songs."

"Parrot Stories, right?"

"Yeah. It was like he was _dissecting_ them—comparing each element of his old songs to his new ones. Every single time I'd stop in the recording studio, he'd be there, bent over a computer screen, adjusting parts of his music…"

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, August 14th, 2013**_

**(5:00 P.M.)**

"Hey man, don't you ever leave?" I asked him. His eyes were hauntingly bloodshot and there were huge dark circles under them.

He didn't respond right away, like it took a few seconds for his brain to register my words. "I'll leave when I'm finished," he finally answered, without even taking his eyes off the screen.

I sighed. It seemed I would have to be the responsible one. "Alex, I think you need to chill out with this music thing," I said cautiously. "I mean, how long have you been here?"

He shrugged.

"When's the last time you slept?"

"That's what this is for," Alex said, pointing a jittery finger at the mug of tea next to him.

"That's not healthy, mate…"

He rested on hand on his chest. "After a while, you hardly notice the heart palpitations… it all kinda blends into the music…"

"Okay, that's it. We're going home now." I stepped over to him and started pulling his chair away from the desk.

"Nooo!" he cried, struggling against me (albeit weakly). "I'm almost there! I can feel it!"

"Yeah, you're almost _dead_, I can see it," I retorted. I spun the chair around and dragged him by the arm. "Come on, I'm taking you home and I'm going to make Charlie barricade you in your room for the next ten hours so that you fucking get some sleep! Jesus!"

"Charlie moved out," he answered flatly.

"He what?" I asked, letting his arm go.

"He left."

"When? Why?"

"A couple days ago." He shrugged. "I can't remember why… I think he just got sick of me."

"How could he get sick of you? You're never home," I pointed out.

Alex shrugged again. "Guess I'm just that annoying."

He looked so dejected… abandoned. Almost instinctively, I found myself hugging the broken remains of my friend. "Come on, let's go home. I'll stay with you tonight."

**xxxxx**

After that, he didn't spend quite so much time at the studio, but he still worried me. When we'd talk, he would seem almost disoriented—like he was living in his own little world and my words could only drag him back to reality for a few minutes at a time. It was far easier just to leave him to his own devices. Soon, I could kind of understand why Charlie left. It was like Alex wasn't really there anymore and he had been replaced by this musical robot whose only goal was to get back up in the charts. And it was working.

Within the next few weeks, he made one of the most drastic rebounds of chart history with the release of several singles from his new album. I didn't really understand it, to be honest, because the songs all seemed kind of shallow and amateur. It certainly wasn't his best work. But he was happy and I was just glad that the musical madness would be over. Or so I'd hoped.

I'd had my suspicions for a while, but it wasn't until Carrie brought it up that things started to click.

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013**_

**(6:30 P.M.)**

I was hanging out with Alex again a few weeks after the new citizen initiation ceremony. Carrie had stopped by too, but Alex—being his new, weird self—wasn't really participating much. Everything she'd say, Alex would either completely ignore or else just float back some vaguely related response, which almost always led back to his music. After a while I could tell she was getting irritated with his lack of effort, so I excused myself to make some tea and give them some space.

Alright, fine—I was eavesdropping.

As soon as I'd put the kettle on, I snuck back and stood right outside the room, pressed up against the wall so that I could somewhat see into the room, but they couldn't see me.

"Alex," Carrie was saying.

He didn't respond but just continued to gaze blankly ahead.

"Alex, look at me," she tried again, concern evident in her tone. He seemed to struggle to turn his head. Once his eyes were looking into hers she spoke. "Listen, I need you to be honest with me."

He sighed. "What about?"

She took a deep breath and then quietly asked, "Are you on drugs?"

"No!" he said forcefully, the slow, float-y voice suddenly being replaced by an angry one at the accusation. "I don't do drugs!"

"Then what is going on?" she demanded. "Because you've been acting really weird lately!"

"I'm just trying to focus on my music, okay? Fucking hell..."

"I'm starting to worry about you and your music," she went on. "It's all you ever talk about anymore. You used to have _so many_ things that you cared about! Now it's all just this one album!"

"I have to focus on it if it's going to be any good!"

"I know but… it's like it _consumes_ you. And not just you either. Other people are getting really, really into it."

"Yeah Carrie, that's what people do when they like something! Can't you just let me be successful?" he shot back.

"Of course, but… don't you think some of this is getting out of hand? I mean you have what, three singles out? And there are literally people in the streets cheering your name every time you step out of the house. I hear 'Good Morning Sunshine' in every single lift I step into, and yesterday I saw someone nearly get hit by a car because he was spinning around singing 'Funnel Cake'. It's an _unnatural_ amount of adoration, okay? People are taking this to new levels."

"God, leave it alone, will you? I'm not hurting anyone."

"I'm just worried about you…"

"You mean you're just jealous!" he spat back. "You know you'll never be as successful as me!"

I stepped out from my hiding place, unable to believe what I'd just heard. Carrie was just staring at him. "What did you say?" she finally asked.

"You're just jealous," Alex repeated.

Her face flushed and she inhaled shakily before responding. "You know what? I don't need this." She stood up quickly and grabbed her bag. "Talk to me again when you're ready to stop being a_ pillock_!" And with that she stormed out.

**xxxxx**

"So, what happened then?" Ben asked.

"I tried to talk to him after Carrie had gone—get him to apologise or something," Tom said.

"Did he?"

"No, he insisted that he hadn't done anything wrong. Then he kind of… went off the deep end."

"How?"

"As it got closer and closer to the time of the album's release, Alex became more obsessed. He made zero effort to talk to anyone, and when other people would try talking to him, he'd just ignore them. You can only deal with that for so long."

"Interesting," Ben mused. "So did his popularity diminish then?"

"With his friends? Yeah, definitely. But with his fans it was the opposite. He just kept climbing the charts, taking over the music industry one hit single at a time."

Ben nodded and marked something down on his notepad.

"Anything else?" Tom asked.

"Yeah, actually," Ben replied, flipping through the pages until he found what he was looking for. "You mentioned something about the 'Initiation Ceremony'. Could you explain what that is?"

"Oh, that's right. I forgot you only got here like three days ago. Right, well…"

**xxxxx**

_**Saturday, September 21st, 2013**_

**(1:00 P.M.)**

"_Anyone who cares to witness the New Citizens Initiation Ceremony, please report to Town Hall immediately,_" John Green's voice called across the loudspeakers in the square.

I didn't have anything in particular to do that day, so I decided to follow the general commotion and attend the ceremony. Besides, I liked watching the superpower demonstrations.

Looking around for someone I knew to sit by, I spotted PJ by the water coolers.

"Hey Tom!" he called as he refilled his bottle. "Come to see Carrie?" He grinned.

"Oh, is that who it is?" I asked. I hadn't heard if she'd immigrated yet or not.

"Well, her and a load of others, but I don't know any of them."

We found seats in the back as the auditorium slowly filled with people. PJ handed me a programme that had the schedule for the evening and who would be in the ceremony. I scanned over the names but only recognised one or two before I spotted 'Carrie Hope Fletcher', the last on the list.

I settled into my plastic chair, knowing I'd have to sit through the entire ceremony before I would see Carrie's demonstration. It was worth it though, because this would most likely be the only time I would get to see her powers firsthand.

PJ and I watched the new citizens as they, one by one, had their faces covered in peanut butter (or sharpie), were automatically entered in the drawing for a free puppy sized elephant, took the Oath of Nerdfighteria, and finally, demonstrated their superpowers.

We watched in awe as some guy magically shapeshifted into a rubbish bin and then back again. A girl turned invisible and downed a whole pint of butter beer, the glass mug floating effortlessly in front of where her lips must've been. Someone grew defensive barbed quills like a porcupine, and someone else lifted Bertie Gilbert straight out of his seat with just their mind.

A group of llamas had just finished cleaning up the orange juice mess from the last citizen's power demonstration when Hank Green called, "Carrie Hope Fletcher!"

She walked onstage, beaming and curtsying to the crowd. I noticed her scanning the faces in the audience. Apparently she didn't see whoever she was looking for because she frowned as John Green applied a thick layer of peanut butter to her nose with a spatula.

Once her face was sufficiently coated, she repeated the Oath after Hank and was sworn into the nation of Nerdfighteria.

I saw French, the llama, whisper something in Carrie's ear and she nodded.

"Ready to show us your power, Carrie?" Hank asked.

"I think so," she said, a little nervously.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," John said. "You'll be fine."

There were murmurs of encouragement from the crowd, but I heard someone say, "The actress has stage fright?" and laugh to his friends.

Carrie ignored him and bit her lip as the Green brothers walked off stage, arguing about something.

She exhaled slowly and turned around to reveal that her dress had two large slits cut in the back.

Suddenly, huge, white, feathery wings sprouted through the holes in her dress.

There was a collective gasp from the crowd as she spread them, showing her entire majestic wingspan to the room. She did a couple of spins and flapped her wings for us, showing that they were completely separate from her arms and could be tucked inside her dress when not in use, somehow magically shrinking so that not even a feather poked out.

A couple of llamas wheeled a large staircase that had a platform at the top and then a sheer drop to the stage some five metres below. It was like a high dive, but without the pool.

As Carrie slowly climbed the stairs, I realised that her demonstration had only just begun. When she reached the top, she took in a sharp breath and steeled herself for the jump.

**xxxxx**

"Did it work?" Ben asked, captivated by Tom's story.

"Like magic," Tom said simply. "I mean, it probably would have been a lot more majestic if not for the peanut butter smeared all over her face, but still…"

"So, she could fly?"

Tom nodded.

"And you believed it?"

"Well obviously I was sceptical at first. I looked for wires or other mechanisms that could have faked it but—Ben, she flew right over my head! It was amazing! It was one of the most epic demonstrations I'd ever seen. The only one that was better was when Dan Howell walked straight through a pillar of fire in nothing but swimming trunks and he wasn't even singed! That was brilliant." Tom cracked a huge, genuine smile.

"I see," Ben nodded. He wrote something else down on his notepad. "Okay, you're free to go now, Tom. There should be an officer outside waiting to escort you back to Town Hall."

Tom raised an eyebrow but said nothing as he walked out of the room.

The moment the door shut behind Tom, Ciaran asked, "Ben?"

"Yeah?" Ben didn't glance up as he flipped through his notes.

"Why didn't you tell him it was a trick? I mean, Carrie told us herself that she can't actually fly."

"All in due time, my friend," Ben said mysteriously.

Ciaran rolled his eyes. "You are so full of shit. You know that, right?"

Ben just smiled.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Katisha (tumblr: cookieboxofsocks)**


	5. Dan Howell

**Chapter 5 - In Which Dan Howell Becomes a Henchman**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Saturday, November 9th, 2013<strong>_

**(3:10 P.M.)**

Dan Howell stared blankly at the table, nervously picking at a piece of fuzz on his jeans. "I swear, I never meant for him to get hurt," he said quietly.

"We know that," Ben replied gently.

"It all just happened so fast. I mean, one minute we were standing in the field and the next… he was…" he trailed off.

"I know, Dan. It's pretty apparent it was an accident. No one is blaming you for what happened to Phil."

"Maybe you should though," he barely whispered.

"Well, that's what these testimonies are for—to figure it all out."

Dan sighed deeply and propped his elbows up on the table, resting his head in his hands. "Okay."

Filming commenced.

"Name?" Ben asked.

"Dan Howell."

"Colony?"

"I was in Dooblydoo until October. Then I moved to E.B.O. and lived with Alex Day."

"Occupation?"

"Well, I used to be a DFTBA Radio co-presenter," Dan explained, "but I quit back in October."

"Why was that?" Ben asked.

"Me and Phil… well, we didn't really want to work with each other anymore, so I left," Dan admitted.

"Just like that? How did you support yourself after that?"

"I helped out Alex Day," Dan explained. "Just kinda did odd jobs for him… helped make sure he was staying on track with his album release. Sorted out his schedule. Made sure he had enough to eat. Kept people from bothering him… y'know, whatever."

"So like a personal assistant?" Ben clarified.

"You could say that I guess," Dan consented. "I also worked with the WOTO guys and Tyler Oakley on promoting the music and making sure Alex could release on time."

Ben grinned. "Ah, so you were one of the henchman?"

"No! We weren't henchmen!" Dan retorted. "We just paid to help make sure everything went according to plan."

"Interesting," Ben remarked, jotting down some more notes. "Alright, and what's your registered superpower?"

Dan winced. "Uh… fire doesn't really affect me."

"So you can manipulate fire?"

"No, I just don't catch on fire," Dan explained. "I'm like, fire-resistant."

"That's really it? That's the best you've got?" Ben smirked. "You don't even get to shoot flames out your arse or anything?"

"No, but it's still helpful not to be on fire," Dan said defensively.

"But that's the general state of humans—not being on fire. It's not that much of a superpower."

"And what's _your_ power, _Ben_?" Dan asked pointedly.

Ben rolled his eyes, cleared his throat, and glanced down his list of questions. "It says 'superhero name' is next," he went on, ignoring Dan, "but I suppose you were able to keep your old name, right? Because Dan is still not on fire?"

"Yeah, that would have been the obvious choice," Dan muttered. "The _clearly preferable_ choice."

"So it's _not_ danisnotonfire?" Ben asked curiously.

"No," Dan sighed, "that name was taken."

"Really?" Ben laughed. "By who?"

"Becca Hodgekins," Dan said, rolling his eyes. "God, she's so annoying."

"Wait… Chris Kendall?" Ben asked, frowning.

Dan cast him a strange look. "...Nooo… _Becca Hodgekins_."

"But they're the same person," Ben pointed out.

"You believed that too?" Dan laughed. "Oh wow, I thought it was obvious! Chris is _not_ that good at editing!"

Ben inhaled and opened his mouth to ask another question, but then shut it again and exhaled, shaking his head slowly. "Okay, so if _Becca _has got 'danisnotonfire', what are you called then?"

"It's a long story," Dan said. "A long, stupid story."

"Lucky for you, Ciaran just changed out the battery," Ben replied, gesturing to the camera.

Ciaran gave a thumbs up and grinned.

Dan sighed. "Alright, fine. It went like this…"

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013**_

**(6:30 P.M.)**

I don't even remember the last time I was that upset—I could barely see straight. It was just after dinner and I was bent over the kitchen sink, furiously scrubbing out the spaghetti pot in an attempt to release some pent up rage.

"Dan, don't you think you're overreacting?" Phil asked cautiously as he loaded the dishwasher next to me. "It's really not that big of a deal…"

"Of course it's a big deal!" I fumed back at him. In my fury, a stray piece of pasta flew off the dish and landed on Phil's forearm. "It's _all my ID cards _now."

Phil rolled his eyes, picked the piece of spaghetti off, and dropped it back in the sink. "It's not like anyone's going to read it closely and everyone still calls you 'Dan'. Who even cares which name was put in the public records?"

"I care!" I yelled, accidentally dropping the pot back into the sink and splashing hot, soapy, spaghetti water all over myself. "Eww," I moaned. "Ugh, nothing's gone right since we moved to this fucking island!"

"Just let it go, Dan," Phil said exasperatedly.

"You don't get to tell me to 'let it go' when it's your own damn fault!" I retorted. "Not to mention you were the one who insisted we move here in the first place."

"Would you stop being so dramatic?" he snapped. "I _already apologised_ and you won't stop going on about it! Believe it or not, there are bigger problems in the universe than '_Dee-eight-n-one-snot-on-flir-three_!'"

**xxxxx**

"Okay, hold up," Ben interrupted, rubbing his forehead. "I'm lost."

"That's my name," Dan explained, "Dee-eight-n-one-snot-on-flir-three. But if you write it down…" He took Ben's pen from him and scribbled something on the corner of the legal pad. "It looks like this."

Ben looked at the string of letters and numbers on at the bottom left-hand corner of the page: d8n1sn0tonflr3. "Oh hey, look at that," he said with a smirk. "It's danisnotonfire—you just have to squint."

"No, it's not," Dan argued. "It _vaguely resembles_ danisnotonfire, because danisnotonfire was already taken and god forbid we upset Becca-Fucking-Hodgekins by giving her a different name!"

Ben frowned. "So they made you Dee-eight… uh, whatever it is? But I thought everyone just votes on your name during the initiation ceremony?"

"They did," Dan nodded, "but because the logical choice was taken already, they all thought it would be fucking hilarious to give me a taste of what it's like to be a fangirl or something… I don't even know, it's idiotic! And then Phil filled out the fucking form wrong…"

"Which form?"

"For the legal records," Dan explained. "After the ceremony ends, the names are recorded in the records, so you have to fill out a form with all the information on it. Phil did mine for me because I was still covered in lighter fluid, but he got mixed up and wrote my superhero name in the wrong box—the 'legal name' box."

Ben had to stifle a giggle as he finally began to understand what had happened. "So, wait… Phil accidentally changed your legal name to—"

"Dee-eight-n-one-snot-on-flir-three," Dan scowled.

"That's… wow," Ben remarked, trying and failing to keep a grin off his face. "But couldn't they just change the name? I mean, people change their names all the time, right?"

Dan sighed. "Yeah, I filled out the 'name change request' form, but Charlie said it would take some time before he could get around to processing it. Apparently name changes are 'low priority clerical work', whatever the hell that means. You know, WOTO got to change their names!"

"Alright, so then what happened with Phil?"

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013**_

**(6:34 P.M.)**

"Oh _I'm_ the dramatic one, am I?" I retorted. "Not the person who has a fucking coronary every time I'm three minutes late for something?!"

"Why do you have to make everything such a big deal?!" Phil yelled back. "_Oh woe is me! Someone ate my cereal!_" he mocked, waving his arms around dramatically. "_Oh my god! Phil left the cabinets open_—_my life if so hard! My name has some numbers in it now! Everything is ruined!_" He punctuated each word as he spat them back, "It. Doesn't. Matter."

"It matters to me!"

"Of course it does," Phil muttered. "Everything does."

I could feel my blood boiling inside me. "I HATE THIS FUCKING ISLAND AND EVERYONE ON IT!" I shouted.

"WELL MAYBE YOU SHOULD JUST LEAVE THEN!" he shouted back.

"_Maybe I will!_" I exclaimed. "Four years with you is about the limit anyone can handle!"

I didn't mean it. I was just so unbelievably mad at him that the hateful words slipped out before I could stop them. I would have taken them back, but his pale face flushed bright red and he spat back, "Yeah, well you're no picnic either."

I stormed back to my room and angrily shoved several changes of clothes and some of my most important belongings into a backpack. "I'm really leaving!" I yelled back through my closed door as I slammed all the necessary chargers, cords, and wires into the open bag. It's getting ridiculous how many cords you need to run away these days. "I'm really gonna go!"

"Yeah I know!" Phil hollered back. "That's why I'm celebrating!"

I could hear music playing loudly in the background: _'Ooh, this time I'm telling you, I'm telling you…'_

"Oh come on!" I groaned loudly. "If you're gonna serenade me out, you could at least choose something better than Taylor Swift!"

"Go away, Dan!" He cranked the volume even higher just as she got to the chorus: _'WE ARE NEVER EVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER!'_

"SHUT UP!" I screamed. Deciding I had enough of my crap for at least a few days, I grabbed the backpack and stomped back out. "I'll get the rest later!" I spat, slamming the front door behind me.

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013**_

**(8:05 P.M.)**

I had been walking around the colony for a good hour or so, just trying to cool off. Once some of my anger had subsided, the practical part of my brain took over and I figured that I needed a place to spend the night. I couldn't remember if PJ lived in Okay? or Okay, but that would be quite a trek either way. Jack and Dean were all the way over in Swindon Town. I knew I didn't want to stay with anyone in Dooblydoo… so who did that leave?

I was attempting to text Chris, not really looking where I was walking. All of a sudden, I smashed right into someone else, getting a facefull of curly, blond hair. My phone flew out of my hand and hit the pavement.

Carrie gasped and stumbled a bit, but we both managed to stay on our feet. Her eyes were red, her make-up smeared, and her face was streaked with tears. I was about to ask if she was alright, but she just muttered, "Watch where you're going, Howell," and continued on her way.

"Could say the same to you, _Fletcher_," I mumbled, picking up my phone again. There was a big dent in the corner and the screen had cracked, although it still worked. I groaned in frustration. _This day just keeps getting better and better_, I thought.

Glancing up, I noticed a sign saying, 'Welcome to Evil Baby Orphanage'. I sighed and scrolled through the contacts on my broken phone until I came to the one I figured was my best bet—at least geographically speaking. Sure, we weren't super close, but all I really needed was a place to crash for a night or two—tops. Then Phil would call and apologise.

"Hello?" came the groggy-sounding answer.

"Um, hey Alex," I began. "It's Dan."

"...Who?"

"Dan," I repeated. "Dan Howell."

He paused a moment before asking again, "Sorry… who?"

Okay, maybe we weren't as close as I'd thought. "Daniel Howell?" I tried again, the confidence in my voice dwindling rapidly. "You know, danisnotonfire? We made a few videos together? Follow each other on twitter?"

"It sounds… familiar…" he mused.

_I should hope so_. "Brown hair? Kinda tall? I do a radio show…?" I sighed. Obviously this wasn't going to work out. "You know what, nevermind. I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Ohhh... wait," he said, as though he finally understood. "You're _Dan_... like, Dan-and-Phil, Dan."

I winced at the sound of my friend's name, but quickly decided it made for a good segue into my request. "Yeah, that's kind of the reason I called."

I paused, but he didn't say anything so I pressed on. "So, weird question… is there any way that I could maybe stay at your place tonight? Um, something happened, and I heard that Charlie moved out recently so you probably have a spare room…"

It took him a second to respond. "Yeah," he said, still in a weird, sleepy voice. "Charlie moved out. Charlie… moved… out."

"Yeah, I heard about that…" _What is this guy on?_

Alex didn't say anything.

"Alex?" I tried again.

"Yeah?"

"So, like I said," I went on, "something happened… um, with me and Phil, and I can't really go back there right now, so I was wondering if I could maybe spend the night at your place?"

Alex yawned before responding slowly. "Yeah, sure. Come on over… I'll show you some of my new songs… and stuff."

"Sorry, did I wake you or something?" I checked the time. It was barely eight o'clock at night.

"No," he said. "I was just working… on some music stuff… for the album."

He didn't sound very enthusiastic at the prospect of having me over, but it was getting dark out so I figured I should take what I could get. "Oh, okay. Thanks then. I'll be right over."

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013**_

**(8:27 P.M.)**

When I got to Alex's flat, it wasn't much different. I'd expected to be asked about my reasons for moving out—or at least what the fight with Phil was about—but to be honest, Alex didn't seem to care. He was solely focused on his music, and whenever the conversation deviated from that topic, he went back to that slow, floaty, dream-like state.

It was sort of nice not to have to go over the fight again—because I was already sort of regretting it—but at the same time, I'd been at least expecting to be able to vent. However, Alex was having none of that.

"So, I had a fight with Phil," I began.

"_Mmm_," Alex hummed, his eyes not moving from the notebook he was scrawling lyrics into.

"I mean, maybe it was stupid, but it seemed so important at the time, y'know what I mean?"

"_Mmm_," he hummed again.

"Because, I mean, that was something that was important to me, and he just acted like it didn't matter at all. He's always doing that, y'know? I say something is important, and he just totally dismisses it and says I'm being dramatic. But I'm not being dramatic—I just care about something, and telling me to just 'not care so much' doesn't fucking change the fact that I care!"

"That's life, mate…" Alex muttered. "Hey, have you heard my new song, 'Funnel Cake', yet?" he asked, glancing up at me for the first time since I'd arrived.

"What?" I questioned.

"Funnel Cake," he repeated.

"Does it have something to do with me and Phil?" I asked, confused.

He frowned. "What about you and Phil?"

"We had a fight…" I answered slowly. Honestly, it was like talking to a brick wall. "Remember? That's why I left?"

"Oh that sucks…" He sympathised for a second before turning back to his music. "Hey, listen to this and tell me if it needs more ukulele."

I sighed. "You have kind of a one track mind, huh?"

He looked up at me, and with a completely straight face said, "No, there are eleven tracks."

I wasn't really in the mood for album humour, so I just thanked him for letting me stay over and headed off to Charlie's old room to sleep.

I had only meant to spend a night or two, but the more time I was away from Phil, the harder it was to go back. He didn't call, didn't text, didn't visit… It was like he didn't care at all. I didn't show up at the radio station the next day, but Phil just carried on with the show himself as though nothing had happened, even inviting Carrie on as a guest co-host. It was like I'd been…replaced.

Oh, and Alex was becoming a mild nuisance.

**xxxxx**

Ben drummed his fingers on the table. "A mild nuisance?" He smirked.

"Well, he wasn't really hurting anyone," Dan explained, "but it was getting pretty fucking annoying."

"Some would say that he did hurt people," Ben pointed out.

"_Some_ would be wrong then. It was just music."

"You don't believe there were any sinister motives behind his actions?"

Dan laughed. "Okay, you weren't living with him—I was! That guy was so out of it, he couldn't even hold a conversation. There's no way he could have had 'sinister motives'. If I hadn't been reminding him to go to bed once every few days, I think he would have _literally_ worked himself to death, y'know what I mean? The whole 'controlling the masses' thing was just a coincidence."

"A _coincidence_?" Ben smirked again, writing something down. "And the war?"

"The war wasn't his fault. People just overreacted."

"As a Nermie Army henchman, you would say that."

"We weren't henchmen!" Dan said frustratedly. "We just saw his point of view, okay? Alex wasn't doing anything wrong, but it seemed like half the island was accusing him of anarchy or something just because he was successful!"

"If he wasn't doing anything wrong," Ben said, leaning in closer, "then how do you explain what happened to Phil?"

The colour drained from Dan's face at the mention of his friend's name. He swallowed hard before speaking. "Alex didn't have anything to do with what happened to Phil," he answered thickly, like he was trying not to cry. "That was _my_ fault, okay?"

"But if not for the war, Phil wouldn't be hurt, would he?"

Dan didn't answer. He just closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

Suddenly, the door pushed open and French the Llama stepped in. "So sorry to interrupt, messieurs," he said hastily, "but I have been commissioned by the Capitol to immediately inform you of any change in Monsieur Lester's condition."

"What is it?" Dan asked anxiously. "What happened?"

"No need to be alarmed," French said gently. "It is only that Monsieur Lester is now awake."

Without another word, Dan stood up and sprinted past the official out of the room.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Val (tumblr: mostlyyoutubers) **


	6. Phil Lester

**Chapter 6 - In Which Phil Realises He's Never Had Funnel Cake**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, November 10th, 2013<strong>_

**(3:36 A.M.)**

The artificially bright hospital room was quite a contrast from the dark, sparse interrogation room… not that Phil could tell.

"So, how are you feeling now?" Ben tentatively asked. He sat in a plastic chair next to Phil's hospital bed.

It wasn't the first time he had tried to interview Phil. Ben and Ciaran had come in the day before, but Phil hadn't really been in a state to offer any helpful response. It was just as well though because after nearly twelve hours of interviewing citizens, they'd desperately needed sleep. Now, eight hours later, they were back at it.

"I've been better," Phil responded from underneath the bandages covering the top portion of his face.

"So, can you… see?"

"I don't really know. They don't think it's a good idea to take the bandages off yet."

"But you'll be able to see again… right?" Ben asked hopefully.

"The doctors say they aren't sure. It mostly hit my right eye, so the left has a better chance. But even that…" he trailed off. "Well, now we know why warning labels are important, huh?"

Ben nodded grimly. "I'm really sorry, mate."

"Yeah…" Phil sighed deeply. "I guess on the plus side, I don't have to look at the curtains. People keep telling me they're ugly."

Ben laughed and looked up at the multicoloured bed curtains. "It's kind of like someone set off a bomb at a hippie convention, yeah." He sat there for a few seconds, regretting having to interrogate a recently-blinded man about his possible involvement in the conspiracy.

"Did you want to ask me some questions then?" Phil asked after a moment.

"Yeah, I should," said Ben. "Sorry about… y'know, what I have to do."

"It's just your job," Phil replied calmly.

"Yeah, but I would understand if you didn't want to relive… y'know, all the events leading up to it."

"Well, morphine helps you not care."

"You don't seem as high as you were yesterday though," Ben said, attempting banter.

Phil laughed weakly. "I don't even know _what_ they had me on yesterday."

"Whatever it was, it certainly made for interesting conversation."

"Oh god… what did I say?" Phil groaned.

Ben grinned. "I actually got it on tape."

Phil's smile faded. "You're joking, right?"

"Now why would I joke about something like that?"

"...And then you deleted it?" Phil asked hopefully.

Ben snickered. "Maybe… maybe not."

Phil groaned.

"Now, are you ready to start the interview?"

"I guess… how does my hair look?" Phil asked sincerely.

"Um…" Ben gazed at his interviewee. Most of Phil's signature black fringe had been singed off and what was left was largely covered in bandages like his eyes. However, that probably wasn't the most reassuring answer, so Ben chose a different response.

"Looks great. Definitely not messy."

"Oh good."

"Alright then," Ben pressed on. "Let's hear this thing. Ready Ciaran?"

The camera operator nodded and Ben launched in. "Name?"

"Phil Lester."

"Colony?"

"Dooblydoo."

"Occupation?"

"DFTBA Radio presenter."

"Registered superpower?"

"Uh, communicating with non-human animals," Phil muttered.

"Superhero name?"

Phil grinned sheepishly. "Striker."

"Now how does _that_ make sense?" Ben questioned.

Phil giggled lightly. "I've just always liked that name…"

"But didn't the public have to vote on your name?"

"Well, yeah… but they wanted to give me a name that would make me happy."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "You really lucked out, huh? Not very many people are satisfied with their names. How did you manage to get a name you liked?"

Phil shrugged. "Someone nominated it, and then the public voted. I don't know…"

Ben nodded knowingly and jotted something down on his legal pad before moving on to the next question. "So, Phil, I'm just going to dive straight into this… how did you find yourself as a leader of the resistance?"

"Well, it's kind of a funny story…"

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, October 23rd, 2013**_

**(8:27 P.M.)**

It's true you know. Misery really does love company.

Within only an hour or two of Dan storming out, a disheveled-looking Carrie was knocking on my door, asking if she could come in. It was clear that she'd been crying about Alex. I was still kind of reeling from our fight, but I figured comforting Carrie would take my mind off things.

Once I'd invited her in and made us both some tea, we moved into the lounge to talk.

"I just can't believe he really said that to me," Carrie sniffed from her position next to me on the sofa. "He r-really said that."

"Look, I'm sure he didn't mean it…" I tried gently. "I mean, you asked him if he was on drugs… that's kind of confrontational. You probably just caught him off guard."

"But he actually said, 'You're just jealous because you know your music will never be as good as mine!'" Carrie recited in a mocking tone. "You're telling me _that's_ what he says when you 'catch him off guard'?"

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," I said quickly.

"Then how _did_ you mean it?"

I searched my brain for a comforting response, but drew a blank.

"Alright," I conceded, "I guess that _was_ a really mean thing for him to say…"

"Exactly," she pouted. "He's been a complete _jerk_ lately."

"I don't know," I said, trying not to throw Alex completely under the bus, "maybe he's just stressed with the album thing."

"I don't think that's it… It was like he was a completely different person, you know?"

"Like Dan," I muttered.

She cast me a sympathetic look. "I'm sure he didn't mean it, Phil. He just got carried away."

"Yeah," I sighed. Dumbo trumpeted lowly and waddled across the sofa and into my lap. I smiled. "At least the puppy-sized elephant still loves us," I said as I tickled my pet's tummy.

We sat together for a while, commiserating. Carrie and I'd grown a lot closer since she'd moved to Nerdfighteria, but it wasn't until that night that we started hanging out as much. I guess we just missed our friends.

Carrie sighed after a while. "It's just… you know Alex's new album?"

"Is there anyone who _doesn't_?" I laughed. "The promo stuff has been everywhere for months—not to mention I work in radio. Based on the popularity of his singles, Toucan Tales is projected to be the hottest album of the year—easily!"

"Right, but have you noticed how... _weird_ people get about it?" she went on. "Like, sort of obsessed? _Unnaturally_ obsessed, if you ask me."

"It's good music," I pointed out. "What's the big deal?"

"See, I don't think it's really all that great," she argued.

"Well, maybe that's just your individual taste."

"Have you listened to it though? Like really _listened _to it?"

"I've heard it," I said with a shrug.

"Because I _have_ listened to it. It's like he just remade Parrot Stories with slightly crappier lyrics!" She dug through her purse and pulled out a piece of paper. "Here, look at this," she said, handing it to me. I flipped the paper open and read the tracklist:

_1. 41.67 Days_

_2. Kidneys_

_3. Some Less_

_4. Letting Go_

_5. Funnel Cake_

_6. What She Thought_

_7. Don't Forfeit_

_8. Futile Fantasies_

_9. Corsica_

_10. Why We Aren't_

_11. Just Look Forward_

"See what I mean?" Carrie demanded once I'd read it through. "The same songs, but worse."

"Well, that's just the titles…" I began.

"I've heard most of the album already," she replied seriously. "Alex was showing it to me when I was over there. Trust me, it's rubbish. The lyrics are shallow and repetitive and the rhyming scheme is just… _off_. Then the music is weird too. It's hard to explain. The sound is just really... _weird._"

"Again, that's your personal preference though," I insisted. "Clearly other people like his music—I mean, the singles are already topping the charts!"

"Yes, but _why_?" she demanded. Pulling out her mobile, Carrie opened the music app and pulled up one of Alex's new singles, 'Funnel Cake'. "Really _listen_ to it this time, Phil," she instructed me, handing over the phone and a pair of earbuds. "Think about how it makes you _feel_."

I humored her and popped in the earbuds, letting the melody wash over me. At first, I understood what she meant; the rhyming scheme was a bit off and the sound was… odd. The strange thing, though, was that even though I agreed with Carrie about the music, it didn't seem to bother me. My eyes drifted closed as I let myself float back in time…

**xxxxx**

_"I should really go, Phil," she whines._

_"But what if I don't want you to go?" I whisper, gently running my fingers through her hair. It's just starting to get dark out and we're sitting on my front steps, lazily watching the passersby._

_She smiles up at me. "Do you like funnel cake?"_

_I laugh. "It's alright."_

_"Then take me to the funfair," she says. "We can have funnel cake tonight."_

_We walk down the darkening streets, following the colourful blinking lights and cheerful music in the distance. I buy us tickets and funnel cake_—_the warm, sweet smell fills my nose._

_As we eat and walk, some of the icing sugar gets on my fingers. I tap her nose, leaving a smudge of white powder. "Boop," I giggle._

_She sticks her tongue out at me playfully, then stops, straining to hear something. "Phil, listen," she breathes. "It's our song."_

_I hear nothing but the sounds of carnival rides, strangers' voices, and the generic, far-too-energetic background music. "What do you_—_" I start to say, but she holds a finger to my lips, shushing me._

_"Dance with me," she commands._

_So we do. The moonlight cascades down over us as we waltz slowly in the street, her head on my chest. Everything is perfect. Everything is exactly as it should be._

**xxxxx**

When I opened my eyes again, I was shocked to find Carrie shaking my shoulder frantically. "Phil!" she was shouting, "Phil, please wake up!"

I snapped back to reality. "What? What's going on?"

She let out a sigh of relief and sat back in her seat. "Oh thank god you're back!"

"What do you mean?" I asked, thoroughly confused. I noticed that the song had ended, even though I could have sworn I'd only closed my eyes for a few seconds.

"You weren't responding for like, five whole minutes!" she explained anxiously. "I was yelling your name and shaking you and trying make you wake up, but you didn't even flinch! It was really scary."

I rubbed my forehead. "What do you mean? I was just listening to the song…" Memories came flooding back to me and I felt my mouth forming a stupid grin in response. "That was a really good song, Carrie. It reminded me of that time that I took a girl to a funfair and we ate funnel cake and danced in the moonlight and…"

"Phil," she interrupted, "are you _sure_?"

"What do you mean?" I frowned.

"Are you _sure_ about that? Who was the girl?"

I thought through it. The memories still danced through my mind, although they were quickly growing fuzzy.

"Uh, it must have been a long time ago. I don't really remember her name…" I began.

"What colour was her hair? Her eyes? Was she your girlfriend? Where was this funfair? How old were you? What does funnel cake taste like?" She fired off the questions in quick succession.

I racked my brain. Just a few seconds ago, I had such beautiful, vivid memories, but suddenly I was having an extremely difficult time recalling the details. "I can't… I can't really remember," I admitted.

"Exactly," she concluded, "because they're not your memories."

"No! They have to be! They felt so… real."

"Alright," she said, choosing an app on her phone. "You just keep thinking about it. In two minutes, a timer is going to beep and you're going to tell me everything that you remember about that night, okay?"

I agreed. Two minutes later, the timer beeped.

"Ready?" she asked.

"Yeah, I just have one question," I said. "What the hell is funnel cake?"

Carrie let out a quick, breathy laugh. "According to Wikipedia, it's a popular food at North American funfairs—it's like, sugary, deep-fried dough," she explained. "But do you see what I mean? This is some scary stuff. I started studying this after Alex released 'Letting Go' a few weeks ago, talking to a bunch of different people. Everyone's had the same reaction. Memories just pop up out of nowhere during the song, totally incapacitate the listener, and then magically disappear again a few minutes later."

"Is it just with this one song?" I asked.

"This one and 'Just Look Forward' give the strongest reactions," she explained. "You'll also note that 'Funnel Cake' is currently number one in the charts."

I nodded, remembering that to be true. "And the other ones?"

She pulled out a graph paper notebook and flipped it open to a page covered in colourful hand-drawn bar graphs. "The level of the song's popularity in the charts directly correlates with the effect of fabricated memories and nostalgic feelings that I've measured the song to have on my test subjects."

"You really put some thought into this," I said, impressed.

"Alex is my friend," she answered simply. "And something is clearly wrong with him. What else was I supposed to do?"

"But what could be doing this?"

She sighed deeply. "I'm not sure. I have this theory but—"

Suddenly, our quiet meeting was interrupted by someone's very loud and excited singing.

"_GOOD MORNING SUNSHINE, I HOPE THAT YOU'RE WELL!" _boomed from outside the flat. _"DARLING I MISSED YOU LAST NIGHT WHEN YOU FELL_!"

Curiously, me and Carrie both rose from the sofa and headed towards the front door. I opened it to reveal the source of the disturbance.

"Oh, hey Chris," I addressed my noisy friend.

"_YOU SHOULD KNOW SUNSHINE, YOU BRIGHTEN MY DAY! THE WORLD GETS SO DARK, LOVE, WHEN YOU GO AWAY_!'

"Are… you okay?" I asked, slightly concerned.

"Never better!" Chris Kendall giggled, barging past me into the flat. I spun around and followed him quickly.

"Chris!" Carrie said, grabbing her notebook and pen. "Have you been hanging out with Alex by any chance?"

"If by 'Alex' you mean the God of Sound, then yep!"

"Did he show you his new music?"

"Yep!"

"What's your favourite song?" Carrie continued, jotting down notes.

"Funnel Cake!"

"And how do you feel?"

"Fucking awesome!"

"How many times have you pre-ordered the _digital_ copies?" she asked.

"I don't know!" Chris announced happily.

"Would you say more than twenty though?"

"Hell yeah!"

"And you don't see any problem with that?" she demanded.

"Nope!" he giggled, skipping back out of the house and letting the door slam shut behind him. I stood still, shocked by what I'd just witnessed.

"Well that was the strongest reaction I've seen so far," Carrie muttered.

"What do you mean? What's wrong with Chris?" I asked anxiously. "Should I go after him? I mean, is he going to be alright on his own?"

"I don't really know. I mean, I have a _theory _about what's going on, but I can't really confirm it…"

"What's the theory?" I pressed. Outside, I heard the screech of tyres followed by angry shouts of, "Get out of the road, Kendall!" and "You can't do that in the middle of the street!"

"He's going to get himself killed!" I cried, hurrying to look out the window. "What's wrong with him?!"

"Okay," Carrie sighed, "you know how we're not supposed to use our superpowers unless it's an emergency?"

"Yeah?"

"I mean, it all fits: the record music sales, the unnatural adoration of his fans, the constant, obsessive tinkering…"

"Wait, wait. You're not implying that Alex broke Public Law 221-B, '_The Law for the Restriction of the Unnecessary Display and/or Use of Certain Enhanced Super-Human Abilities in Non-Life-Threatening Situations'_, are you?"

She nodded vigorously, glad I'd finally caught on. "That's exactly what I'm saying, Phil. Because if you remember correctly, Alex's power is—"

My mouth fell open and I finished the sentence for her: "Mind control."

**xxxxx**

_**Sunday, November 10th, 2013**_

**(4:46 A.M.)**

"Okay, I think Mr. Lester has had enough excitement for one day," a nurse said as she entered the room. "He's supposed to be resting after all."

Phil attempted to say, "I'm fine," but a massive yawn somewhat ruined his credibility.

"Seriously?" Ben whined. "We were just getting to the good part!"

"You'll have to find someone else to question then," she answered calmly. "Plus, I don't think you're the only ones vying for Phil's remaining visiting hours…" She gestured to the half-open door, from which someone was poking his head in.

"Oh," Ben said knowingly. "Come on Ciaran, let's leave them to it."

"Leave who to what?" Phil asked from beneath his bandages. "Is someone else here?"

"You'll see—er, I mean, find out—in a minute," Ben said awkwardly as he and Ciaran quickly gathered the remaining video equipment and shuffled out. "I hope you get better soon," he muttered.

"Yeah, good luck with the seeing again thing!" Ciaran added hopefully.

"Thanks," Phil said.

As soon as they had left the hospital room, the lurking figure coughed pointedly.

"Who's there?" Phil called, obviously frustrated by his lack of knowledge about his surroundings. "Dan? Is that you?"

Dan nodded, but then quickly realised his mistake and responded with a raspy, "Yeah."

"Oh. I'd been wondering if you'd come."

"'Course I came," he replied in the most light-hearted voice he could muster. "I mean that's the whole point of being your emergency contact. If this bloody hospital is going to keep ringing me, I figure I might as well see what all the fuss is about."

Dan had to make jokes because if he didn't, he feared he'd break down.

"So… what's up?" Phil asked dully.

His former-flatmate took a cautious few steps into the room. "I… I just wanted to tell you… it's not white."

"What?"

"You're probably thinking it's white," Dan rambled, "the walls and stuff I mean. Because you're in a hospital. Like, if you're reading a story or whatever and a character wakes up in a hospital, they'll describe it as white. But in this case you'd be wrong because this room is not white… it's kinda more like… beige."

"Beige?"

"Yeah… like tan, but lighter. Definitely not white."

"Okay…"

"I just mean, if I were you and I woke up in a strange room and I was b—" Dan began, then quickly changed his direction, "...and I couldn't see it, I'd want someone to explain what it looked like. Otherwise, I might come to all these erroneous conclusions—like that it was white—and then I'd feel really out of the loop, y'know what I mean?"

Phil gave a weak smile. "Yeah… I know what you mean."

Taking a seat in Ben's recently vacated plastic chair, Dan continued, "Not gonna lie—I was getting really offended on your behalf out there."

"Oh? Why's that?"

"I've been hanging out around this hospital room for most of the past twenty-four hours and—"

"No you weren't!" Phil interrupted. "This is the first time you came!"

"Yes I was. You were thoroughly drugged. Now shush," Dan said shortly. "So I was here for all those hours and _not a_ _single one_ of the three nurses and two doctors who've come by has bothered to tell you what this place looks like! Jesus Christ! It's not too much to ask!"

"It doesn't matter, Dan…"

"Of course it matters!" Dan snapped. Then in a much quieter voice, he added, "You deserve to know."

Phil thought for a moment, then said, "Okay… what does it look like then?"

"Right, well it's beige for one," Dan started in, "the walls anyway. The floor is white tile and it's kind of shiny, so I assume it's been recently waxed. It's a private room, so there's no roommate constantly whining about how much pain he's in like that time you took _me_ to hospital."

Phil gave a slight smile, "I kinda figured that much—I can still hear, Dan."

"Right," Dan cleared his throat, "so the room's not that big really—maybe half the size of your bedroom at home—and there's a small wardrobe next to the window on your right. Then there are those god-awful privacy curtains around your bed. The pattern is horrific, it's like… floral diarrhoea."

Phil made a face. "Maybe sight's not all it's cracked up to be."

Dan chuckled, "Maybe. Then there's one of those tables that go over the bed—like in hospitals, y'know? And there's a pink plastic bin next to you… I'm guessing for if you have to puke. And there's a TV across from you, and I'm sitting in the extra chair, and there's a lamp, and… Oh! I forgot to tell you. Carrie and a few other detained people sent you some flowers."

"Oh that was sweet. What kind are they?" Phil asked.

"I dunno, some daisies and shit," Dan replied. He picked up the flower arrangement from the side table and held them in front of Phil's face. "Here. Smell," Dan said, tapping Phil on the shoulder.

Phil flinched and let out a surprised noise at the unexpected touch.

"Sorry, sorry! I forgot you can't see me coming!" Dan apologised.

"It's fine," Phil said. After he'd sniffed the flowers, he just sat there for a few moments, thinking. Finally he said, "Look Dan, I'm really sorry about the fight and everything…"

"Phil, no," Dan stopped him, "you don't have to apologise for anything."

"Clearly I do though!" Phil protested. "That stuff was important to you and I didn't understand it so I got mad and we fought and—"

"Stop," Dan said, struggling to hold back tears. "Please stop. None of that matters anymore! If there's anyone who needs to apologise, it's me. I'm the reason that you're… you're blind." He finally let himself say the word. It felt so permanent. Final.

"I… I never should've have agreed to do the fireworks," Dan choked out, his voice wobbly and thick, "I didn't know what I was doing and… I hurt you. It was my fault. I hurt you and I'm so, so sorry, Phil and I-I understand if… if you hate me."

Phil was silent for a long moment whilst his friend struggled to keep it together.

Finally, Phil spoke. "I was so scared," he admitted. "When it hit me. I thought… well, you know what happened with the firework when I was younger? I just kept picturing what happened then. But this time I couldn't see and you all were shouting stuff… and it hurt so bad and…" he trailed off.

Phil could almost hear Dan deflate at his words. The chair squeaked, and Phil wished he could see what Dan was doing.

"So, I mean…" Phil sighed, "I can't really say it wasn't your fault on some level… because it kinda was."

Dan bit his lip to keep it from trembling as the tears streamed down his cheeks.

"But honestly," Phil continued, "I don't _want_ to be mad at you. I just want my friend back. Right now, that's more important to me than my sight."

Dan looked up through his tears. "That only m-makes it worse!" he sobbed. "Can't you just go ahead and be mad at me already like a normal person?"

"You want me to be mad that I got hurt?"

"YES! It was _my fault_! Just fucking yell at me or something!"

"Why should I?"

"BECAUSE I JUST RUINED YOUR LIFE!"

Dan completely gave up trying to keep it together, his breaths coming out in huge, choked sobs. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. The only sounds were Dan's agonised crying and the steady, rhythmic beeping of Phil's heart monitor.

Once Dan had calmed down enough to hear him, Phil spoke gently, "The only thing that could ruin my life would be not getting to spend it with you." He smirked and added quickly, "Besides, yelling at you would just make my throat sore and it's too dry in here already."

Phil heard Dan mutter something that sounded suspiciously like, "Bloody Hufflepuffs…"

Out loud, Dan finally said, "But… does that mean we're okay?"

Phil smiled weakly. "We'll be okay. We'd be better if you could manage to erase that footage Ben shot yesterday."

"Actually, I think I'll ask him if I can see it. I could use a good laugh," Dan teased.

"Dan…"

"Then maybe I could post it on your YouTube channel. The subscribers would love that."

"Dan!"

"Kidding! Kidding!" Dan said. "I think I can bribe Ciaran to 'accidently' delete the footage for us. Don't worry, your drug-induced ramblings are safe with me."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Stephanie (tumblr: dolphelecat)**


	7. Jack & Dean

**Chapter 7 - In Which Jack and Dean Accidentally Help Start a Guerilla War**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, September 10th, 2013<strong>_

**(5:03 A.M.)**

"We need to speed this up," Ben announced to the next two interviewees to join him in the small room. "Due to the sheer number of citizens involved in 'the incident', individual interviews are becoming impractical. However, as both of you were heavily involved, we still need your testimonies… so I'm just going to go ahead and let you testify together, alright?"

"Is that even legal?" Dean Dobbs asked. "Isn't there some confidentiality law or something?"

"Oh, probably… but there's also probably a law prohibiting newspaper journalists from conducting police investigations, so, you know, pick your battles."

"It's fine," Jack Howard shrugged, "you can interview us together. It's not like we did anything wrong."

"Except for that part where you helped Miss Fletcher lead a guerrilla war, right?" Ben smirked.

"_Guerilla war_?" Jack asked incredulously. "I'm sorry—have you even _met_ Carrie? I don't think that girl is capable of anything remotely close to 'guerilla warfare'."

"You guys led a group of rebel citizens to take care of matters of the law without the involvement of the official law enforcement—that's like the definition of guerrilla warfare," Ben defended.

"No, no, now I think you're getting guerilla warfare confused with the Mafia," Dean said with a frown.

"Or maybe a lynch mob," added Jack.

"No," argued Dean, "I think you have to be trying to _kill_ the person for it to be a lynch mob."

"Hmm… true," Jack said, nodding. "Civil war perhaps?"

Ben cleared his throat loudly. "_Regardless_ of the term we're using, you two can't deny you were involved."

"Fair enough," Jack consented.

"Therefore we will begin your interview now, alright?"

"Go ahead."

Ciaran adjusted the lights slightly and began filming.

"Names?" Ben requested.

"Jack Howard," replied one.

"...and Dean Dobbs," said the other.

"Colonies?"

Dean answered, "We're both in Swindon Town."

"Occupations?"

"We're both comedy actors," Jack explained. Dean nodded in confirmation.

Ben moved on to the next question. "Now, registered superpowers?"

"Camouflage," Dean said with a smirk.

"Speed," Jack answered.

"Superhero names?"

"Incognito," said Dean.

"The Jackrabbit," muttered Jack.

"That's not _that_ bad," Ben remarked. "I've certainly heard worse today."

"Every nomination was a stupid pun!" Jack groaned. "It's the curse of living with this fucking name—you should have heard some of the other ideas! 'Jack's-out-of-the-Box', 'Jack-be-Quick', 'Fast-Like-Car-Jack', 'Hijack-Byejack'…"

"Don't forget my suggestion." Dean grinned.

Jack rolled his eyes and added, "...Jack's-off."

They all laughed at that one; even Ciaran let out a snort of amusement.

"Alright," Ben said finally, "let's discuss this 'incident'... how the _hell_ did Carrie Hope Fletcher decide to go to war?"

"It wasn't our first choice," Jack launched in, "but when one of your best friends suddenly decides to control the entire population one catchy pop-song at a time, you gotta do what you gotta do…"

**xxxxx**

_**Thursday, October 31st, 2013**_

**(9:51 P.M.)**

It was Halloween night. There was this massive party down at the Swindon Town beach and most of the islanders were there. I was having fun trying to see if I could recognise my friends, given their costumes and the fact that the only light we had was what came off the torches set up around the beach, when I noticed Carrie. She was sitting by herself at one of the little tables over by the drink stand, her glum expression sort of ruining the effect of the angel costume she was wearing.

"Fun party," I said as I went up to her. She just smiled weakly and nodded.

"Are you alright, Carrie?" I asked. "You're really quiet today."

She sighed deeply. "Just thinking."

I sat down in the seat next to her. "About what?"

"It's kind of… uh…" she stumbled. "I don't really know if I should tell people."

"Well… _okay_…" I said carefully. "Can I help in some way?"

"I don't know. I just want to do the right thing, and I'm not sure what that is, you know?"

I nodded in what I hoped was an understanding way.

Carrie thought for a second. "Okay, hypothetically, say you have this… _friend_."

I laughed, "Go on."

"And this _friend_ has been acting really strange lately, and you're worried that they might be doing something really… not okay."

I stiffened immediately at her words, dropping into protective mode. "Is someone hurting you? Who is it? Give me their name."

"No, no, no!" she quickly corrected. "In this _hypothetical_ situation, it's not necessarily directed at you. And you're not even necessarily sure your friend is really even doing the thing… although a lot of evidence points to it."

I rubbed my forehead. The code words were starting to get annoying. "Okay, so a hypothetical friend may or may not be doing a potentially bad thing. Do I get any more details?"

"It's illegal," she offered.

That didn't really mean much. "What level of 'illegal' are we talking? Stealing wifi? Tax-fraud? Homicide?"

Carrie let out a quick, breathy laugh. "It's not homicide."

"Then what is it?"

"I don't think I should say… maybe they aren't even doing it."

"Okay…" I sighed deeply, "have you tried talking to your friend about it? Do they _deny_ doing the illegal thing?"

"See that's another problem," Carrie said. "You and this friend aren't really on good terms at the moment so you can't just ask them."

"But you still feel responsible for them?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"They might be hurting people. And they have a lot of power in the community, and it's really unethical, and you're one of the only two people who knows about it."

"And the other person is…?"

"I told him I wouldn't say."

"Of course you did," I muttered. "Look, Carrie, if you know people are in danger, you have to tell someone."

"Except they might not be," she countered. "They might be fine. Then you just accused your friend of something really serious that they didn't actually do. So they already sort of hate you, and now you just accused them of a felony."

"_Felony_? Carrie, just tell me what's going on!" I demanded.

"Phil and I think Alex broke Public Law 221-B, okay?!" she finally exclaimed.

I frowned. "Public urination?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's _241_-B. I said _221_-B. God, learn your legal codes! Did you even _read_ the new citizen handbook?"

I gasped. "Wait, wait… _221_-B? That's not _The Law for the Restriction of the Unnecessary Display and/or Use of Certain Enhanced Super-Human Abilities in Non-Life-Threatening Situations, _is it?"

Carrie nodded grimly. "We're concerned he's using his power of mind control to increase his music sales."

All of a sudden, all I could picture was Alex Day standing in front of a crowd of people, swinging one of those old pocket watches from its chain and chanting, _'Buy my music… buy aaaaaalllll my muuuusssic'_ over and over until the crowd did. Naturally, I couldn't stop laughing. Carrie didn't seem to be on the same page.

"It's not funny! I'm being serious!" Carrie snapped. She took a deep breath and and then continued, "Sorry, I just… it sounds crazy and no one is going to believe me and I don't know what to do and—" She stopped abruptly, sounding like she was about to cry.

I felt bad for laughing and forced myself back to seriousness. "Okay, but it's just _Alex_. Are you sure you can't try to talk to him?"

"It's not that easy… You know Dan's living there now?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think I heard something about that."

"Well he's acting almost like… uh, I don't want to say a 'bodyguard', but… I don't know. He said Alex wants me to stay away and he won't let me in the house or the recording studio when Alex is there."

"_Dan_?" I questioned. "But why would he care about that?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "But it means that neither Phil nor I can't get anywhere near Alex."

"This is ridiculous!" I pulled out my mobile phone and opened the contacts. "I'm just going to call him!"

"You can't," she said simply. "He changed his number and I don't know what the new one is. You can't call or text."

I frowned. "Email?"

"Won't reply."

"Can you tweet him?" I asked, scratching my head. "Or DM?"

"Good luck. I was blocked and reported for harassment."

"Facebook message?"

"Unfriended."

"Tumblr fanmail?"

She scoffed. "_No one_ checks that."

"Um… snapchat?"

Carrie rolled her eyes. "Sure Jack, I'll just snap him a pic of me pulling the universal derp face for, 'Hey! We should really talk about that crime you're probably committing before I have to have you arrested, LOL!' Why didn't I think of that in the first place?"

"Look, Carrie—" I started.

But I didn't finish because she started crying. "I just don't know wh-what to do," she sobbed. "Either something is wrong with him or he's doing something wrong and I just want to help him but he's pushing me away! And if I tell someone, he'll just get in trouble and I don't want that because I don't think he's actually trying to hurt people and I thought he had a moral compass and this isn't him and I don't know why there's so much drama and I hate drama and—"

I couldn't take it anymore. "I'll go with you," I announced.

"Wh-What?"

"I'll go with you and we'll make Alex talk to us. This is ridiculous."

"No you can't," she sniffed.

"I can and I will. He's my friend too."

"But he'll… he'll just hate you too!" she choked.

"I don't care. We're going." I pulled her into a hug.

"Thank you, Jack," she murmured into my shoulder.

**xxxxx**

"See now the funny thing is, I don't remember it being quite like that," Dean said, sounding a bit miffed.

"Oh right, Dean was there too," Jack added as an afterthought.

"_There too_?! I was the one who suggested us all going together!"

Jack frowned. "No you di—…Oh wait… yeah. Yeah, you did. That's right."

"Wait, wait… so Dean was there too?" Ben asked, thoroughly confused.

"Yeah, and Phil! But he came part way through the conversation," Dean added.

"Oh yeah…" Jack mused. "That's true. Phil was there."

"I think it'd be better if I just told the story from now on," Dean said, annoyed. "Jack seems to be a bit confused."

"I'm not confused," Jack retorted.

"Well you're making it out like Carrie's some damsel in distress and you're the knight in shining armor when in reality, you were like, the court jester."

"I was not! I totally took charge!"

Dean snorted, "Only after me and Phil came up with all the ideas."

"Okay, guys," Ben interjected, "I really don't care who said what or who rescued who. I just need to know how this war started."

"I'll tell you," Dean said. "It went like this…"

**xxxxx**

_**Friday, November 1st, 2013**_

**(11:15 A.M.)**

So after Carrie and Phil told us that they were worried Alex was breaking the law by using mind control to influence his fans, I suggested that we just all go and confront him about it to clear this drama up. Carrie and Phil—reluctantly—agreed, and the four of us went off to E.B.O. to find him. It wasn't quite what we'd expected when we got there though. People lined the streets in front of his house, pressing as close as they could get to the entrance. There were even some people with tents in his front lawn.

"Well that's weird," Jack said, gazing at the hordes of excited fans. "Is he having a party or something?"

"Have you been living under a rock?" Carrie demanded. "It's been like this for days."

Alex's music—mostly Parrot Stories stuff—was blaring from some speakers set up around the house and I could see Dan Howell standing at the door with his arms crossed, almost as if he was guarding it.

"This is kind of creepy," I said as we walked closer into the mass of people. "Why are they all just waiting?"

"He said on Twitter that he's going to announce something exciting today," Phil supplied.

We pushed through the fans as much as we could, but it was impossible to get very far. I noticed Phil duck into the crowd more whenever Dan glanced in our direction.

When we'd gotten as close to the front as we were going to get, I started recognizing a lot of the people there. Dan was of course standing guard to the house, but Tyler Oakley, Brad and Liam WOTO, Troye Sivan, and several other more 'prominent' citizens were all standing near the door. Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as Jack and I'd hoped.

"So… how do we get through?" Jack asked Carrie.

"We don't," she said shortly. "Not yet anyway. There are too many of his… um…" She waved her hand around, searching for the word. "What are we calling them?" she asked Phil.

"Henchmen?" he offered.

"I didn't want to use that word…" she sighed. "It makes him sound evil. Paid supporters, maybe? Anyway, we can't go through now… maybe after the announcement."

So we found a little spot in the grass to camp out on—like nearly every other person on the damn island had. Phil passed around sets of earplugs, which Carrie insisted that we all wear so as not to be overexposed to the music. Then we just sat and waited. It was boring and cold.

About forty-five miserable minutes later, the door opened and everything was drowned out by the unbearably loud screaming of the fans on the lawn, mainly led by Tyler Oakley. Fireworks shot off from behind the house, a fog machine began clouding everything up, and the noise was incredible.

Once the crowd had finally settled down enough to listen, Alex Day picked up a megaphone and declared, "Toucan Tales will be released Saturday at midnight. Thank you."

And then he went back inside.

"That was _it_?" I demanded. I had to shout just to be heard over the roar of the cheering crowd. "All these people waited outside of his house for hours—some of them _days_—just to hear him say two sentences?!"

Carrie looked horrified. "He's releasing on Saturday! We can't let that happen!"

"Why not?" Jack asked.

"Just look around!" she yelled.

So we looked. Some people were singing and dancing. Others were clinging to each other and weeping uncontrollably. Most just had this sort of forlorn look in their eyes, like they were just resigning themselves to the fact that they would have to wait an entire week to get the new album. The weirdest part was that not a single person seemed mad or upset that they'd just waited so long for that measly announcement. It was kind of scary.

"He's in their heads," Phil said solemnly. "He's doing something to them. Controlling them."

"_Maybe,_" Carrie said, still not really willing to admit that her friend was doing what he was doing.

Suddenly, we were interrupted by a familiar off-key voice. "_YOU'RE STUPID STUPID NA NA NA NA NA NA NA NA STUPID STUPID_!"

"Oh look, it's Chris," Phil commented.

"_...AND I LOVE YOU!_ Heyyyyy!" Chris Kendall said, sliding into our little circle. "I don't know about you but I'm so fucking excited about this release!" he announced with a smile far too big for his face. "I've pre-ordered this thing so many time I've wallpapered my bathroom with the receipts! Look!"

He showed us a picture on his phone. He really had.

"But, _why_?" I gawked. "And how could you _afford_ that?"

He pulled up his shirt and lifted the corner of a large bandage that was taped to his side to reveal a set of stitches going diagonally across his torso. "Had to make some sacrifices… did you know kidneys go for a good $20,000 a pop on the ol' black market?"

Phil gasped sharply and covered his hand with his mouth.

"Chris!" exclaimed Carrie. "Oh my god!"

"Fucking hell!" Jack swore.

"Relax!" Chris laughed, "I've got another one!" He winced as he replaced the cover. "Ah, shouldn't laugh yet." He grunted. "Still stings a bit."

Carrie covered her face with her hands. "No," she whispered, "you didn't do that. You're joking. You didn't do that. Oh my god, Chris, you didn't do that."

A worried look flashed across Chris's face and, for just a moment, he seemed to be himself again. He put a hand on Carrie's shoulder and whispered, "Hey, don't worry about me, okay? I need to go now." And with that he hurried off, back to his singing. "_LIVING ON THE UNDERGROUND! GUESS IT'S TIME TO PUT YOU DOWN! NEVER GONNA LET YOU OUT! NOBODY CAN MAKE A SOUND…_"

I decided to state the obvious. "There is _no way_ _in hell_ that's a normal reaction to pop music."

"That's it. We're going to stop Alex," Carrie decided shakily. "I don't care what it takes anymore."

**xxxxx**

"And what did it take?" Ben asked.

"We couldn't talk to Alex so we decided to go to the authorities," Jack answered. "But that turned out to be less than helpful than we'd hoped."

"Why was that?" pressed Ben.

"I got this," Dean said to Jack. He launched in.

**xxxxx**

_**Monday, November 4th, 2013**_

**(9:00 A.M.)**

The four of us—me, Carrie, Phil, and Jack—all stood at the Nerdfighterian Capitol reception desk, watching Charlie fill out stacks of forms. He nodded occasionally to prove that he was listening to our story, if only vaguely.

"...So that's why we need to see the mayors," I finished explaining. "It's really important."

Charlie sighed deeply and reached over one of his stacks of papers to retrieve a paper from a different stack. "You need to fill out a meeting request form," he said dully. "The mayoral staff is very busy at the moment."

"But we need to see them now," Phil protested. "People are in _danger_!"

"_Potentially_," Carrie corrected nervously. "He means they're _potentially_ in danger."

"Well, either way, we have an official protocol to follow." Charlie sighed, handing over the forms. "Need a pen?"

We filled out forms for the next twenty minutes, going over the all the little details together. It was almost like John and Hank were trying to make speaking with them as difficult as possible. We'd already filled in our names, addresses, dates of birth, occupations, enhanced abilities, aliases, heights, weights, hair colours, eye colours, driver's licence numbers, phone numbers, email addresses, blood types, hobbies, shoe sizes, opinions on rap music, and recently acquired communicable diseases.

"Um… I had the flu in August," Phil noted, pointing to line twenty-three. Carrie quickly scribbled the information down.

"This is bullshit," complained Jack, crossing his arms over his chest. "It's one meeting! How hard is it to get _one_ meeting?"

"Question twenty-four," Carrie went on, ignoring him, "reason for visit."

"Finally!" Jack groaned exasperatedly. "At least that makes sense."

I thought for a second. "That would be, 'suspicion of unlawful and potentially dangerous activity', right?" I offered.

"That works," Carrie agreed, jotting it down. "Now I just need to know your favourite members of The Beatles, childhood nicknames, allergies, best time for solving a Rubik's Cube, and if you're on any prescription medications. Oh! And boxers or briefs?"

Once we'd finally completed the forms, Carrie turned them in to the desk. Charlie glanced over them quickly and then signed them before adding them to one of his growing piles. "Great, thanks," he told us.

"So we can go in now, right?" Phil asked hopefully.

Charlie chuckled. "No, of course not, but I can put you on the calendar now. Let's see," he pulled up an online calendar on his computer, "how's the fifth of December for you? It's a Thursday."

"The fifth of December is _terrible_ for us, considering we need to speak to someone before _Saturday_!" Carrie said exasperatedly. "Look, Charlie, this isn't going to take too long—would you just let us in?"

"I can't," Charlie sighed. "I have to follow the protocol."

"Fuck the protocol!" Jack exclaimed. "People are in _danger_!"

"_Possibly_," Carrie corrected again. "He was trying to say _possibly _in danger."

"What do they even have going on until _December_?" I questioned. "Like, nothing ever happens on this island!"

"I can't disclose personal information," said Charlie. "You really just need to go. I'm sorry, but I can't help you."

"No! We're not leaving until we speak to them!" I said angrily.

Charlie propped his elbows up on the desk and rested his forehead in his hands. "Guys, please don't make me call security again," he moaned.

"What seems to be the problem here?" a French-accented voice called.

"Great," Charlie muttered into his hands. "Now I'll have to make another report."

We turned to see a llama trotting down the corridor away from an open office door. "What is all this commotion about?" he asked. A name badge pinned to his blazer read 'Léon—department of Nerdfighterian Security and Law Enforcement'. "Perhaps I could be of assistance."

"Everything is under control, sir," Charlie explained wearily. "I think they're just on their way out."

"But we need to speak to John and Hank!" Jack protested. "We can't leave until we talk to them."

"Do you have an appointment?" Léon asked.

"Well, no, but—" I started.

"Please just go," Charlie begged, almost too quietly for us to hear. "If he escorts four people out, there will be _so many_ forms…"

"If you have no appointment, you cannot see the mayors," Léon declared. "Now come along and I'll show you the way out."

Jack started to protest but one glance over at Charlie's pleading expression made me decide to cut him off. "You know, that's alright. We'll just show ourselves out," I said.

Charlie let out a sigh of relief and Léon smiled broadly. "Excellent… so glad to hear it," the llama praised.

Charlie mouthed a quick 'thank you' at me as I led our little group out of the office.

**xxxxx**

"And that was pretty much it," Dean concluded. "They wouldn't let us see the Greens, so we had to take matters into our own hands."

"I didn't like your version at all," Jack complained. "You made me sound like an unhelpful idiot who couldn't take a hint."

"Seems like you have some misplaced anger, Jack," Dean said with a smirk.

"You know what? You can just—"

"Alright!" Ben interjected, standing up. "Seems like we're at a pretty good place to stop now!"

"But he—" began Jack.

"Thanks so much for coming!" Ben said quickly. He ushered Jack and Dean to the door. "I'll let you know if I need anything else!"

"It's not my fault he's being a—" Dean started.

But Ben didn't get to find out the rest because he'd already pushed the two friends out of the room and shut the door behind them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with A (tumblr: anime-girl12)**


	8. Brad & Liam

**Chapter 8 - In Which Brad and Liam Facilitate a Discussion**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, November 9th, 2013<strong>_

**(8:55 A.M.)**

"Names?" Ben asked the two new interviewees sitting across the table from him.

"My name's Brad…"

"And I'm Liam." They said it in a rehearsed manor.

"...Right," Ben continued, "I'm going to need your surnames too."

"WOTO," they chorused.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "You have the same surname now?"

"Yeah, we legally changed them," Brad said simply.

"You _both_ legally changed your surnames to WOTO?" he asked curiously. "Does that mean… Are you two are like a _thing_ now?"

Brad and Liam looked at each other, eyebrows furrowed.

"No…" Liam gave him a confused look. "Should we be?"

"We do co-host a talk show," Brad offered helpfully. "That's a thing."

"But then are you…" Ben trailed off. "Oh never mind." He shook his head at the two grinning men. "Just spell it for me."

"W-O-T-O. All-caps," Brad clarified.

"Short for 'World Of The Orange'?" Ben figured.

"Oh there's a thought," Liam mused. "Hey! That makes sense! Write that down, Brad!"

Ben rolled his eyes. "Alright, that's enough. Colonies?"

"We're in Dooblydoo," Liam said.

"Alright," Ben went on. "Now occupation… You mentioned a talk show?"

"Yep," Brad said, popping the _p_, "Wake Up With WOTO—broadcast live every weekday from four to six A.M."

"...Which is arguably the worst spot on television," Liam added with a touch of bitterness.

"We make do though," continued Brad. "We do the news, the weather, have guests on, play some very well-thought-out games… all kinds of content," he concluded.

"Really, it's a pity no one watches it," Liam sighed.

Ben pressed on, "Registered superpowers?"

"Shapeshifting," offered Liam.

"Super-strength," said Brad.

"Superhero names?"

The former muttered, "Liam-Looks-Like-Stuff."

"Unwieldy," commented Ben with a grin. "And you?" he asked the other.

"BuffWOTO," Brad proudly stated. "Just like on twitter, where I have a lot more followers than him." He nudged Liam.

"_Forty-nine_ is not a lot more," Liam whined.

"That was this morning. I probably have—"

"Guys!" Ben interrupted. "Please try to stay on track, okay?"

They nodded.

"Now, onto the harder questions," Ben began. "Let's talk about what happened at around half four on the morning of November 6th, 2013."

"Well, for starters our ratings increased dramatically," Liam replied.

"And why do you think that was?"

"I imagine it had something to do with the fact that one of our guests essentially declared war on the nation's most beloved popstar whilst on air."

Ben nodded. "Yeah, that's probably a safe assumption. We actually have a recording of the show here… why don't you two just talk me through it?"

Ciaran switched off the room's singular bright light, and turned on the projector, which was aimed at the back of interrogation room, opposite the door. The show began thusly...

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, November 6th, 2013**_

**(4:30 A.M.)**

A dubstep remix of 'A Song About An Anglerfish' started playing as a strobing title card appeared, alternating between "Wake Up With WOTO 2013" and "#NerdfighterianCONTENT" in bright colours.

"Good morning, Nerdfighteria! It's Wednesday," Brad began as the camera zoomed in closer on his face.

"And welcome to another episode of 'Almost None of You Are Watching This On the Live Stream Because It's Being Broadcast Far Earlier than Any of You Actually Wake Up'," Liam chimed in.

Scattered laughter came from the sparse audience.

"I can tell all of you here in our studio audience are alert and ready for Wake Up With WOTO," Liam went on.

"Well they certainly will be when they hear who our first guests are, won't they Liam?" Brad asked pointedly.

"Exactly." Liam had a big smile on his face as he announced their guests. "We've got Phil Lester and Carrie Hope Fletcher on our sofa this morning!"

The more alert members of the crowd applauded as viewing screens cut to a live stream of Carrie and Phil waving to the camera from the greenroom.

"But first," Liam interjected, "the news."

"Pre-orders of Alex Day's upcoming album, Toucan Tales, are breaking records across the nation," Brad read aloud as the screen switched to a display of the charts. "With the release of the first three singles for the album—'Funnel Cake', 'Letting Go', and 'Just Look Forward'—Day has made the biggest rebound in chart history. He is currently occupying spots one, two, and four…"

"One, two, and four?" Liam questioned. "Then who's got three?"

"That would be Robin Thicke with his new hit single, 'I Bet If The Tune Is Catchy Enough No One Will Even Notice This Song Glorifies Rape'."

"Has anyone noticed yet, Brad?"

"Nope, not yet. Very catchy tune."

A few audience members groaned audibly.

The screen switched back to Liam, who continued, "Since Monday, fangirls and fanboys alike have been camping out back of the recording studio, where Alex Day has been furiously working on finishing his album—"

"What time Monday, Liam?" Brad interrupted. "Be more specific."

"I'd say around lunchtime," his co-host supplied.

"I love lunchtime."

"As do I," Liam agreed happily. "Anyway, the album is set to drop on Saturday at midnight, Nerdfighterian Central Time. Have you pre-ordered your copy yet, Brad?"

"Who hasn't, Liam? Who hasn't?"

"Mmm, I know I certainly have." Liam nodded. "His success is quite inspiring, don't you think, Brad?"

"Very," Brad responded with a wink. "This has been WOTO News."

"Please stay tuned for a word from our sponsors, DFTBA* Records—Don't Forget To Be Awesome." Liam continued smiling into the camera until an advert for Alex Day's Toucan Tales appeared on the screen.

**xxxxx**

"Do you have anything to say for yourselves at this point?" Ben asked as he paused the recording.

Brad shrugged. "Not really. We didn't do anything wrong."

"Are you _positive_ that's the position you wish to stick to?" the reporter went on, eyeing them suspiciously.

Brad and Liam shared a look.

"We stand by our previous declaration of innocence," Liam said in a posh voice. "You may proceed."

Ben shrugged and hit the play button.

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, November 6th, 2013**_

**(4:43 A.M.)**

The commercial concluded with a short snippet of "Funnel Cake".

"Welcome back to the show folks!" Liam smiled, "that was a short commercial break, as always."

The screen cut to the interlude slide: a lake scene with animated eagles and enlarged versions of the two co-host's faces accompanied by loud music and colours.

Cutting sharply back to the studio, Brad introduced their guests. "DFTBA Radio DJ, vlogger, and 'that guy with the hair', please join me in welcoming to our sofa… Phiiiiil Lesterrrrr!"

Cheers and applause came from the crowd, as Phil walked onto the stage and sat down between the WOTOs.

"So Phil, what brings you to our humble talk show today?" Liam asked.

Phil looked a bit uncomfortable, "Uh… you invited me?"

"Technically, we invited Carrie, plus one. Interesting that you're her 'plus one', isn't it Phil?" Liam pressed.

"Well, she didn't really want to be alone," Phil said awkwardly.

"Oh, she didn't want to be _alone_, did she? Interesting." Liam turned to the audience with a smug grin. "Let's have a poll! Who here believes in _pharrie_?"

"Fairies?" Phil asked confusedly, then he suddenly seemed to understand. "No! No it's not like that! I'm just here for moral support."

"Speaking of which…" Brad took over, turning to look at the camera dramatically. "And now, the girl you've all been waiting for: actress, singer, and—most interestingly—close friend of the world acclaimed 'God of Sound'... please welcome to our sofa Carriiiiie Hope Fletcherrrr!"

Applause erupted from the suddenly much more attentive audience as Carrie walked on stage. She gave a small curtsey and blushed while the guys scooted over to make room for her on the sofa.

Brad and Liam took their guests through the standard segments of their show. After a rousing game of Twitter Roulette (in which the viewers were instructed to tweet US President Barack Obama "sloth memes") they moved on to the weather. In standard Wake Up With WOTO fashion, one of the guests—this time Phil—was asked to give a completely improvised weather forecast to fit with whatever images they played on the screen. Apparently, on Tuesday there would be a flaming termite apocalypse, whilst Wednesday would be partly cloudy.

Finally, they moved onto the sole 'talk' segment of their talk show.

"So, Carrie," Liam launched in, "you're good friends with our local pop sensation, Alex Day. How is _he_ doing?"

Carrie cleared her throat nervously. "That's actually what I wanted to talk about today. Um, Alex's album—"

"Ah! Toucan Tales!" Brad interjected. He turned to face the camera for his plug, "Only the most eagerly anticipated album of the year, currently set to release Saturday at midnight, and available for pre-order from DFTBA* Records—Don't Forget To Be Awesome!"

"...Right…" Carrie said apprehensively. "That one. I would just like to make the public aware of some… uh, _concerns_ about the album that I—"

Liam (and half the studio) gasped at her words. "Are you impling that Alex is postponing the release date?!" he nearly shrieked. Anxious murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"No! No, um… not that," Carrie said quickly, glancing over at Phil for help.

"She—er, I mean _we_," Phil stumbled, "just have some concerns about the how the music may affect listeners."

"What do you mean?" asked Brad.

"Uh, okay…" Carrie continued, "so doesn't anyone else find it a bit… _odd_ how much response there's been? Like, it's been so uncharacteristically successful, hasn't it?"

Some members of the audience grumbled amongst themselves.

Brad frowned. "Are you saying that Alex isn't deserving of the recognition he's getting?"

"Yes—or wait, I mean no! Um…" Carrie pulled at the sleeves of her cardigan and bit her bottom lip whilst struggling to find words. "Alex is great," she said finally, "his music too. We just… it's just that his songs seem to be having this _effect_ on people, and frankly, it's worrying."

Liam adjusted himself so he could look straight into her eyes. "Go on."

"Have you looked outside lately?" she asked, her voice growing slightly more confident as she continued. "When people listen to his music, they seem almost incapacitated. They float about aimlessly for minutes after the song ends, repeating the lyrics and ignoring everything else around them. I mean, motor vehicle accidents involving distracted drivers are up 63% just since the release of 'Funnel Cake'!"

Phil nodded vigorously and held up one of Carrie's charts, illustrating the statistics she had just cited.

"You can't really prove those things are connected though," Liam pointed out. "And even if they are, if people are getting distracted it's their own fault, isn't it?"

"Not if they can't help getting distracted," Carrie replied. "Like, for instance if they were being… uh, mentally influenced by… uh, by Alex." She winced even as she said the words, her hands balling into nervous fists because she knew how this was going to sound.

"Mentally influenced?" Brad asked. "Could you explain that?"

"Well, what I mean… uh…" she stammered, "he might be doing something not strictly ethical… or legal..."

"Such as…?"

Carrie opened her mouth to speak, only to shut it again, unable to get the words out. She let out a frustrated sigh and looked pleadingly over to Phil. "Just say it," she whispered to him. "Please. I can't say it."

Phil nodded grimly. "Uh, we have reason to believe that Alex Day might be breaking Public Law 221-B," he stated. "So… basically… he's controlling our minds."

The audience gasped sharply at Phil's words. Carrie winced and started trembling slightly, whilst Brad and Liam just appeared amused.

Brad looked over to the camera and smiled. "We'll be back after another quick word from our sponsors!"

**xxxxx**

Ben stopped the recording again. "That's quite a serious accusation they made, especially considering it was being broadcast live."

The two WOTOs nodded knowingly.

"It was a fairly big moment in the life of Wake Up With WOTO too, wasn't it?" Ben went on. "If my sources are correct—and I assure you, they are—your live broadcast viewer count _tripled_ in the following…" he glanced down at his paper, "_eight minutes_. How exactly did that happen?"

Brad grinned. "People in the audience started tweeting it and things kind of took off from there. Everyone loves a good drama."

"Do _you_ love a good drama too?" Ben asked, narrowing his eyes a bit.

"Well…" Brad shrugged innocently, "you know how it is."

"Why don't you tell me how it is?" Ben asked, his tone a bit too sweet. "Just in case."

For the first time, Brad looked a bit nervous. "Well…" he began again, looking over to his friend for help.

"Well," Liam took over, "I wouldn't say we _like_ drama, but I wouldn't say it's not… _helpful_ sometimes."

"During the commercial break, one of the studio interns mentioned that the viewer count was rising so we decided to just kind of… go with it," Brad explained.

"So you guys played up the drama for ratings?" Ben asked. "And, given what happened, you _still_ say that you did nothing wrong?"

Liam shrugged. "We didn't claim anything. We just explored some _alternate_ theories, you know, to be fair."

The interrogator shook his head slowly and continued playing the show.

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, November 6th, 2013**_

**(5:58 A.M.)**

The recording cut back to the studio.

"And we're back!" Liam announced. "For anyone tuning in now, our guests have just accused famous musician Alex Day of a serious crime!"

"We said he _might_ be," Carrie quietly clarified.

"Still pretty harsh," Brad remarked, "especially coming from a friend of his. Or should I say former friend? Word is that you two had a bit of a fall out recently… right around the time that Alex started climbing the charts."

"Well… sort of, but—" she started.

Liam jumped in, "Coincidentally, as Alex's popularity _increased_, interest in _your_ music _decreased_, isn't that right, Carrie?"

"Wait… _what_?" she stammered. "Even if that were true, it wouldn't have _anything_ to do with—"

"I suppose getting your competition arrested is _one way_ to ensure better sales," Liam continued with a smirk, "but really, Carrie, I hadn't expected you to go to such lengths."

Murmuring voices floated through the crowd.

"No!" Phil interjected. "No! That's not it at all! Alex is putting people in _danger_ and we're just trying to help!"

"Oh that reminds me!" Brad said. "Isn't Dan Howell—your former-flatmate—employed by Alex now, Phil?"

Phil frowned. "Well, yeah, but—"

"...And that's because he quit the radio show, which you have to do solo now, right?"

More murmurs passed through the audience, this time sounding more agitated.

"Well, that was ju—"

"I suppose, as an employee of Alex," Liam pressed, "any change in music sales would also affect Mr. Howell's career… isn't that right, Phil?"

Phil was growing clearly frustrated. "We are _not_ trying to sabotage our friends, okay?!" he exclaimed. "We would _never_ do that! We're just trying to make sure that—"

"Liars!" someone from the crowd shouted over him. "You're both filthy liars!"

His voice was the spark that set it off. The room erupted into shouts and accusations, fighting with each other to be heard over the noise:

"Yeah, you're both just jealous!"

"THIS IS SICK!"

"She's a nutter!"

"Fucking conspiracy theorists. Both of them."

"We can't let 'em stop the release!"

"There is _nothing_ wrong with Alex Day!"

"YOU'RE JUST JEALOUS BECAUSE HIS STUFF IS ACTUALLY _GOOD_!"

"His music makes me happy!"

"IT SAVED MY LIFE!"

"It's the about only good left in this god-awful world! How DARE you try to take it away!"

"Get 'em off the air! _NOW_!"

**xxxxx**

The footage cut out abruptly, switching to static.

"So that seemed rather intense," Ben remarked.

"It's one for the highlight reel, yeah," Liam agreed.

"I would be _very_ interested to know what happened next," the reporter continued, "but see, the funny thing is that I don't seem to have any more footage."

"Right," said Brad, "that would be because of the riot. The cameras were the first to go."

"Who exactly rioted?" Ben asked.

Liam chuckled. "Who didn't?"

"_We_ didn't," Brad offered, kicking his neighbour sharply under the table.

"That depends on how you look at things…" Liam snickered.

Ben rolled his eyes. "But you both still maintain that you did nothing wrong?"

"Yeah," Brad confirmed. "They did that to themselves."

"How do you mean?"

"We were just _facilitating a discussion_," said Liam. "A discussion that just so happened to be our only hope for raising our dismal ratings enough to keep this shitty show on the air."

"But… I thought people loved WOTO?" Ben asked, perplexed. "They did in the UK anyway."

"Nerdfighteria has too much entertainment," Brad said simply. "Our content is no match compared to the other creators here and, for a talk show, there's not much to talk about. This island is fucking boring. Then along comes Carrie and…"

"We weren't trying to hurt them," Liam continued, "and we weren't breaking any laws. All's we did was capitalise on a shining opportunity—ripe for the taking—that everyone seemed to be ignoring. Drama sells. _We did nothing wrong._"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Naomi (tumblr: ijustwanttolookgoodindresses)**


	9. Tyler Oakley

**Chapter 9 - In Which Tyler Oakley Reveals a Government Conspiracy**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, November 10th, 2013<strong>_

**(11:22 A.M.)**

The lights shone over the new interviewee's head, illuminating the tips of his unnaturally light-coloured hair. Across the table from him, Ben slid into his seat with a groan.

"How many do we have left?" Ben muttered to his co-producer.

"We passed half-way… I think," Ciaran responded.

Ben nodded and turned back to face the man. "Name?" he asked.

"Tyler Oakley," the new interviewee responded.

"Colony?"

"Okay."

"...Okay what?" Ben asked.

"That's the name of the colony—_Okay_," Tyler clarified.

"You live in a place called _Okay_?" Ben asked, confused.

"No, not Okay?," Tyler said, his inflection going up slightly the end of word to indicate a question. "I said I live in Okay." This time, his voice dropped at the end of the word.

"Okay," Ben repeated, keeping his voice even.

"Right," Tyler said. "There are two colonies—Okay? and Okay. I live in Okay." He smiled back at Ben. "Okay?"

"No, not okay!" Ben said exasperatedly. "You guys have—what? Five colonies besides the Capital? You only needed to come up with six names! Whose fucking idea was it to give two colonies the SAME NAME?!"

"Whoa, Ben. Deep breath," Tyler advised.

Ben propped his elbows up on the table and took a breath, supporting his head in his hands.

"That's it," Tyler praised. Then he added with a smirk, "You okay now?"

"_SHUT UP!_" Ben shouted.

At that point, Ciaran suggested they take a short break for the sake of Ben's sanity. After a few minutes and a cup of tea, they tried again.

"Occupation?" Ben asked, picking up where he'd left off.

"I can't tell you," Tyler replied. "It's classified."

"I think we're past that point, Tyler. This—" Ben began, pulling out a small, laminated badge, "is my level II clearance pass, granted directly from the Nerdfighterian government."

"When did you get time to laminate a badge?" Tyler demanded.

"Charlie did it for me." Ben grinned. "You know, I was sceptical about the secretary thing at first, but he's really quite organised."

Tyler grabbed the badge from Ben's hands. He studied it, then frowned in disappointment.

Ben quirked an eyebrow.

"But… they never made me one," Tyler complained, pouting slightly. "I deserve it more than you do—I've been here a lot longer." He glanced around the room with an edge of defiance. "And did you steal this set from Bertie Gilbert or something?"

Ben rolled his eyes. "It was a last minute production decision. Bertie had the lights left over from his last 'A Chat With…' and he offered to—"

"Ben?" Ciaran cut in, "the camera's only got 25%. Any chance we could speed this up before I have to change the battery?"

Ben narrowed his eyes at Tyler. "You never answered my first question."

"I told you, it's classified."

Ben snatched the badge back and glared at Tyler.

"Ugh, fine," Tyler sighed. "I guess there's no point now anyway. I am—was—the Official Inter-Fandom Ambassador of Nerdfighteria."

"That's a thing?"

"Apparently."

"Alright, what's your registered superhero name?"

"Classified."

"Bullshit."

"Fine," Tyler groaned. "It's... Professional Fangirl."

Ben snorted. "How fitting."

"Shut up."

"Power?"

"Harvesting energy."

"Harvesting energy?" Ben scoffed. "Sounds pretty pointless."

Tyler smirked. "Say what you want, I haven't had to drink coffee in weeks."

"Anyway," Ben said, "how did you ever become someone who _stops_ drama?"

"Well…" Tyler began.

**xxxxx**

It's a weird term. _Nerd_. How come we put someone who geeks out about scale model trains into the same box as someone who writes smutty Dramione fics? Why does memorizing pi to the thousandth digit grant you the same label as cosplaying a Wookie? Is tumblr nerdy? Is physics nerdy? Are video games nerdy? Maybe we were _all_ nerdy.

It boiled down to one question: if everyone's a nerd… then who are the _real _nerds?

I think that's when the elitism started. People began to feel that their own nerdy qualities were more valid than anybody else's. The math and science geeks claimed that they were the "real nerds" because their pursuit of knowledge was the most genuine and potentially helpful for the future of decreasing World Suck. Trekkies argued that their extensive history of oppression proved that_ they_ were the true nerds. Bronies tried to make a case for "reverse sexism", but the social justice blogging nerds promptly shut them down. Then, so-called "proper" Nerdfighters—the DFTBA initialism-concocting, hand signal-flashing, Pizza John shirt-wearing, TFiOS-sobbing Nerdfighters—were just upset about having to share their island with so many other nerds, especially since not everyone appreciated vlogbrothers trivia.

The longer we lived on the island, the more tension built up between the various groups. Previously neutral colonies began segregating based on fandom. We got word of fights breaking out at least once a week. Any semblance of unity that we had on the island disappeared faster than you can say, "Eat five sheets of toilet paper while discussing the political situation in Nepal".

That's around the time I got involved.

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, April 17th, 2013**_

**(1:27 P.M.)**

I really had no idea what to expect when the Chief Law Enforcement Officer called me in to the Capitol building for a meeting. I was freaking out.

As soon as I arrived, I walked up to the reception desk—which was buried in stacks of paper. Charlie sat amid the mess, signing, stamping, and filing.

"Hey, Charlie," I called nervously.

Nothing.

"Charlie?" I tried again, this time waving my hand to try to get his attention. When he didn't respond, I hit the little service bell on his desk.

At the 'ding' Charlie gasped and looked up wild-eyed. His hair was frazzled, his clothes wrinkled, and looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. "Oh, Tyler!" he exclaimed. "Sorry, I didn't see you come in."

"I'm just here for an appointment…" I gazed down at the papers on his desk and noticed that almost all of them were labeled 'Incident Report'. "What are you working on anyway?" I asked curiously.

Charlie quickly flipped the papers nearest to me over so that I couldn't read them. "Nothing important," he said as he stood up. "Just boring, clerical stuff. Here, let me show you to the office."

I looked quizzically at him, but the exhausted, pleading look in his eyes made me decide not to press it. Charlie walked me down the hallway and knocked on the office door. "Clarice?" he called wearily. "I have Tyler Oakley for his 1:30 appointment."

"Excellent! Please send him in," a female French-accented voice replied. Charlie left as soon as I'd entered.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Oakley!" the officer said. "Thank you so much for agreeing to meet at such short notice. Please, do make yourself comfortable," she continued, gesturing to a chair with her hoof.

"Just 'Tyler' is fine," I said, sitting down.

"As you wish, _Tyler_." She nodded. "I shall get straight to the point. We have been observing your interactions with various fandom groups for the past few weeks and we would like to offer you a position in this administration."

I blinked. That was not what I was expecting. "A position?"

"Yes. You would be our new Inter-Fandom Ambassador."

"Uh... huh," I nodded. "Which means…?"

"Your job would consist of resolving disputes between the different fandoms represented on this Island," Clarice explained. "The goal would be to assist the mayoral staff in keeping the peace." She took a deep breath and said, "Tyler, are you familiar with the Nerd Faction Uprising?"

I'd heard of it of course, but only in the same way that you would hear about the illuminati. Rumours had been floating around the island for the past few months that several of the larger fandom groups were not happy with the current government situation.

"Wait, that's not actually a thing, is it?" I asked. "I mean, that was just some idiots stirring up drama, right?"

The llama shook her head grimly. "I am afraid not. Twihards and Potterheads have already begun to recruit smaller fandoms to their respective sides. It appears Whovians are currently in the negotiation process. We fear that once the Revolutionary War reenactors join the revolt, the Island will be overthrown."

"Well… _fuck_," I muttered.

"This is where we are hoping that you might step in, Tyler," continued Clarice. "Despite the tireless efforts of our mayoral staff, inter-fandom incidents are up 183% in the last month. We need someone on the inside, someone charismatic. Someone already accepted into many of the larger fandoms. Someone who could blend into multiple fanbases and help to keep conflict to a minimum. We need _you_, Tyler Oakley."

I nodded again as I thought through just what this might mean. I supposed I'd had worse jobs.

"Of course, your involvement with this administration must be kept strictly confidential," she went on. "It is vital that the islanders believe that you are simply one of their peers—not a government agent."

A grin spread across my face before I could wipe it off. "So, you're saying I would be a secret agent?"

"Technically speaking, yes. We prefer the term 'Undercover Inter-Fandom Ambassador'" she chuckled, "but it is not as though we will be printing up business cards so I suppose you may consider yourself whatever you wish."

Well, I mean, how you do turn _that _job down?

**xxxxx**

"So you're an _undercover government agent_?" Ben asked, a hint of incredulousness in his voice.

Tyler grinned. "Yep."

"_Tyler Oakley_ is an undercover government agent?"

"Is there a problem with that, Ben?" Tyler asked pointedly.

"No, no." He sighed and shook his head slowly. "It's just… unexpected, is all."

"Why's that so hard to believe? You don't think I'd make a good undercover agent?"

"Well… you don't seem…" Ben began, and then gave up. "Nevermind. So you took the job, yeah?"

Tyler nodded. "I became Nerdfighteria's first Inter-Fandom Ambassador."

"Sounds more impressive than 'Official Clerical Assistant'," Ciaran snickered from behind the camera.

Ben turned around and made a quick slashing motion across his neck to silence his friend.

Tyler sighed. "The first few weeks were hell. Trying to get fandoms to stop fighting with each other is like… trying to get a beach full of screaming toddlers to stop throwing sand… and there's no naptime."

**xxxxx**

_**Saturday, September 21st, 2013**_

**(1:00 P.M.)**

The first time I noticed it was when I was trying to break up a fandom fight somewhere in Okay?.

"Everyone just stay calm!" I pleaded.

It was no use of course. A bearded man jumped up out of his seat. "BECAUSE FRIENDSHIP IS MAGIC!" he screamed, flipping the game table over. Dice and figurines flew in every direction.

"THOSE ARE COLLECTABLE, YOU UNCULTURED SWINE!" a furious Dungeons & Dragons player yelled back.

"Y'all need to _sit the fuck down_ so we can talk about this!" I shouted. "We're adults here. We can work this out."

"BITE ME!" roared the dungeon master.

It was totally out of my control. I groaned and pulled out my phone to text Clarice for back-up—for the third time that week. That was when it happened.

I guess one of the flying game pieces must've hit the power button on the radio or something because suddenly all anyone could hear was the chorus to 'Funnel Cake'. We all froze.

I didn't want to do anything at that moment that might start the fighting again, so I just waited. As Alex sung about sharing blobs of deep-fried, sugary batter with some girl, I watched the scowls melt off the group members' faces. I was getting lost in the music too, remembering that time that I took my girlfriend to a carnival.

(That part was a bit weird—because, y'know, I'm gay—but whatever. Must've been a long time ago)

The song ended and the bearded brony stepped forward. He picked up the scoresheet from the ground and—almost bashfully—handed it to its owner. "I'm sorry I flipped your table. That was rude and uncalled for."

"It's alright," the D&D player replied, looking down at her shoes. "I'm sorry I called your mother 'maggot pie served out of a dwarf's codpiece'. I've never actually met your mother. I'm sure she's a lovely woman."

"It's cool." The brony smiled. "That was a pretty creative one, actually…"

She grinned. "Ooh! Remind me sometime to show you this book I got, _Medieval Insults for Dark Souls_."

"Really?"

"Yeah. We should totally get coffee sometime. I'm Kelsey, by the way..."

I stood there, gaping, as I watched the two fandom members chatting calmly as they picked up the game pieces.

Over the next few weeks, I watched the same situation play out with various fandoms. Whenever one of Alex's songs played, people calmed down. Fighting stopped. People connected with each other. Peace was restored. I didn't understand _why_ it was happening, but I also didn't give a fuck because Alex Day was my new hero.

**xxxxx**

Ben drummed his fingers on the table. "So you made sure the music was played as often as possible, and in as many places as possible."

"It was the only thing that helped," Tyler answered simply.

Ben nodded and marked something down on his notepad. "And how did you react when Carrie Hope Fletcher started her campaign to boycott Alex Day's music?"

"I wasn't really worried about it at first. I mean, Alex's fanbase was so loyal that I thought there'd be no way she could turn anyone against him. But then I heard that she was planning to sabotage the release date and I had to make sure that wouldn't happen."

"How do you mean?"

Tyler grinned. "I have some _connections_..."

"And what did you and these 'connections' do to ensure the release?" Ben asked.

"I'm still a professional fangirl," Tyler shrugged. "I used my social media powers to encourage his fans to support him on release day."

"And by 'support him', you mean form an army and have them make a protective ring around the studio, right?" Ben clarified.

"It was purely defensive!" argued Tyler. "We didn't want to cause any trouble. We were just making sure that no one encroached on Alex's freedom of expression."

"There was a _war_!"

"It wasn't about the music though!" Tyler defended. "The war only broke out when the Hopefuls _stopped_ the music—which they did by the destruction of private property! _They_ cut the power! _They_ did the illegal thing!"

"So you maintain you did nothing wrong?" Ben asked.

Tyler nodded. "We did nothing wrong. We were just being unironically enthusiastic about supporting something we loved. After all," he said pointedly, "isn't that what it _really_ means to be a nerd?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Holly (tumblr: phlamingllamas)**


	10. Hazel Hayes

**Chapter 10 - In Which Hazel Creates a Distraction**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, November 10th, 2013<strong>_

**(1:14 P.M.)**

"'Bout ready to start?" Ben asked, sliding into his seat at the interview desk. "You still look sort of angry."

Hazel rolled her eyes. "Maybe it has something to do with being detained for the past _thirty_ hours whilst you collect all these testimonies."

"Yeah, sure," Ben smirked. "We all know you're just upset that you lost Musical Chairs."

"Jack tripped me!" she retorted. "He should have been disqualified."

Ben chuckled. "Alright, name please?"

"Hazel Hayes."

"Colony?"

"Swindon Town."

"Occupation?"

"Island Event Coordinator."

"Registered superpower?"

"Ecokinesis," she answered.

"Meaning?" prompted Ben. It wasn't strictly necessary to understand the supposed ability, but he was curious.

"Manipulating nature. Growing plants and that sort," Hazel explained.

"So your superpower was that you were meant to have a green thumb? Bit rubbish that, isn't it?"

"No," Hazel said, a bit indignantly. "Ecokinesis means that you're able to _control _plants and make them grow instantaneously. Need a ladder? Grow some vines. No one respects your personal space? Maybe they will if you're carrying a fucking cactus. Interrogator being an arse? Two words." She leaned in closer and whispered, "_Poison. Ivy_."

"Right! Let's move on!" Ben said quickly, glancing over to Ciaran and then glancing back to Hazel. "Superhero name?"

"Flourish," she responded, smoothing down the front of her dress and brushing back her hair.

"Ah, that's quite nice," Ben said cheerily before glancing down over his notes. "So, it seems that you were somewhat of a leader for the Hopefuls. You were one of the instigators of the battle, in fact."

"It was _never_ supposed to be a battle!" Hazel insisted, getting riled all over again. "I just got a few people together to try to distract some of the hordes of fans around Alex so that Carrie could get through and try to talk some sense into him."

"Alright," said Ben calmly, trying to placate her. "Why don't you tell me how you got involved with Carrie and the Hopefuls then."

"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath, "I wasn't going to get involved with this. I _told_ myself I wasn't going to get involved with this, but then WOTO went and pulled that horrible stunt…"

"You mean with their talk show?" asked Ben.

Hazel nodded excitedly. "Did you _see_ that show? It was terrible! The way they just started in on Phil and Carrie… I can't believe Brad and Liam would take advantage of the situation like that. They just made me so angry!" she exclaimed, raising her hands in a manner that perhaps indicated a desire to throttle one or both of the WOTOs.

"I love them dearly," Hazel continued, "but sometimes they just don't know when to take things seriously. Alex's music was really hurting people, and they were just having a laugh and making out like Carrie was completely mental. That's when I knew I had to do something…"

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, November 6th, 2013**_

**(10:00 A.M.)**

Once I'd left the boys a voicemail telling them _exactly_ what I thought of their behaviour on the show, I headed over to Carrie's house to check in on her.

I was shocked when she answered the door. Her hair was snarled, one of the straps on her dress was torn and there was something that looked suspiciously like a boot print at the hem. It looked like she'd had a pretty tough time getting out of the chaos at the television studio, and it was clear she had been crying.

"Aw sweetie, how are you?" I asked.

Carrie opened her mouth to explain, but a choked sob came out instead. As I folded her into a hug, she started rambling about how she was just trying to help, and how ridiculous it was that everybody thought she was causing trouble out of jealousy.

"I just want my best friend back," she murmured as she started to pull herself back together. "I'm sorry, Hazel," she whimpered, noticing the little wet patch where she'd cried into my shoulder. "I've got your dress all wet now!"

"Shh, it's okay, it's fine. I needed to wash it anyway," I consoled, brushing her messy hair back from her face.

Carrie found a tissue in her pocket and wiped her eyes. "This morning was such a disaster," she sniffed.

"I know, I saw the show," I told her. "That's why I'm here. Are you alright? Can I do anything to help?"

"No, Hazel, don't get involved in this," she objected. "It's such a mess… I don't want to get anyone else hurt."

I shook my head firmly. "Do you really think I'm about to sit back and watch people spread lies about you for trying to help?"

"I wouldn't blame you," Carrie muttered. We moved into the sitting room and she gave me a weak smile. "But it is nice to know that at least _someone_ believes me."

"Speaking of that," I said, glancing around, "where's Phil?"

"Jack and Dean took him back home to get cleaned up." Carrie sighed. "One of the audience members…" She gestured vaguely around her nose with her hand, indicating that Phil had been hit during the riot.

"Oooh," I winced. "Is he alright?"

"Phil says he doesn't think it's broken," she sniffed. "And Jack says it'll look better once they wash off the"—her voice cracked on the last word—"blood." Tears welled up in Carrie's eyes again. "S-See why I don't want anyone else getting involved in this?"

"Oh, it's too late for that," I said firmly. The concern in my voice was quickly becoming replaced by determination. "I'm _definitely_ involved now. No one hurts my friends—not on my watch."

The two of us talked things over for a while, and Carrie explained her theory to me in greater detail. She figured that Alex had to be using mind control somehow to manipulate everybody into buying his music. Carrie was hesitant to blame Alex, though. She kept saying things like, "maybe he doesn't know he's doing it", and "if he would only let me talk to him maybe I could get him to see what he's doing".

"I just don't know what to do," she groaned finally. "The album is going to be released Saturday at midnight! That's only like two days away! If there are people selling their own organs for pre-order copies, I can only imagine what they'll do for the album itself!"

"And the authorities won't listen?" I clarified.

"We tried! No one is taking this seriously!"

"That can't be true. What about Phil?" I prompted. "He went on the show with you."

"Alright, there's Phil and me, and Jack and Dean… and maybe like two others." She sighed in frustration. "But the entire rest of the island thinks I'm making this up!"

I pictured the hordes of desperate fans that I knew were already camping out in Alex's yard, waiting for the release. Slowly, an idea began to form in my mind.

"So, what you need to do is get through to Alex, right?" I asked.

"But I can't!" Carrie protested. "He won't let me in and there are _so many_ people determined to make this release happen. There's no way anyone is just going to let me waltz on through to talk to him!"

"I understand… but is that what you need to do?"

"Yes, but—"

"Okay," I cut her off, "if that's what you need to do, then that's exactly what we're going to do."

**xxxxx**

"So, eventually we came up with a plan," Hazel told Ben. "Phil, Jack and Dean would stick with Carrie as sort of a guard, while Tom Milsom and I would sneak into the encampment and cut the power to the main speakers, which were playing Alex's songs 24/7. Since the music seemed to be the only thing most people cared about anymore, we figured it might cause enough confusion to disrupt the crowd a bit and let the others through."

"Alright," Ben nodded, "so you and Tom were making a distraction, and the others were trying to get Carrie in contact with Alex. That seems simple enough… so what went wrong?"

"Well, Tom and I were able to crawl in through some shrubbery and cut the main power line without any incident, but that's when things started to get even more strange," Hazel said, shaking her head as if she still couldn't quite believe what had happened next.

**xxxxx**

_**Friday, November 8th, 2013**_

**(9:09 P.M.)**

Once the blare of "Funnel Cake" sputtered into silence, Tom and I exchanged grins and high-fives of victory. The momentary glee of having accomplished our goal died away as we waited to see what the reaction would be, realising that we had no idea if it would actually work.

At first, people were mostly just confused. Some froze, waiting to see if the music would turn back on again. Others took a more proactive approach, with shouts of, "Oi! Who cut the music?" and the like. People definitely took notice, but I wasn't sure if it would be enough of a distraction to let Carrie sneak through to Alex.

After a few moments of music-less relative quiet, we saw people shaking their heads and looking around, dazed. It was almost like everybody was in some kind of a trance. Or maybe just coming out of one.

Along the perimeter, I could see four figures moving through the confused crowd, and then one split off to go around back.

"I think it's going to work," I whispered excitedly to Tom. "No one's noticed them yet!"

"I guess Carrie was right," he said. "That music is definitely affecting these people somehow. I just can't believe Alex would _do_ that… " Tom murmured.

As Alex's fans seemed to snap out of it, the volume level gradually began to rise again and the atmosphere turned decidedly tenser. The Woodstock-like vibe of blissed out music lovers shattered as people all around us started bickering and breaking off into cliques, dark looks and insults flying between the different groups.

"Can you see what's happening?" Tom asked anxiously. "Did they see her?"

But that didn't seem to be it. The Nermie Army was turning on itself whilst Carrie slipped through unnoticed. It wasn't long before we realised that there was a lot more drama going on than Carrie and Alex could account for.

**xxxxx**

"And that's how the battle began, but you have to understand that was never our intention," Hazel insisted. "We just wanted to make a distraction. There was no way we could know that cutting the music would turn everybody mental!"

"But you say that's when everyone turned on each other?" clarified Ben.

Hazel nodded.

"Interesting," he drawled noncommittally. "So if what you're saying is true, it stands to reason that it was the music _itself_ that was affecting people's behavior. I suppose that could somehow be part of Alex's supposed mind-control power. Or, something else entirely…" he trailed off, thinking aloud now.

"I don't know what was going on or what made everybody act like that, but his fans started fighting against one another. Stopping the music might have started it, but the battle didn't have anything to do with us," Hazel declared.

Being a good investigator and reserving judgment, Ben neither confirmed nor denied that statement, but he did call an end to the interview.

"Thank you, Hazel. I think I've gotten everything I need from you for now. You're free to go. And you can send along the next person on your way out!"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Chelsea (tumblr: fatedfortunes)**


	11. PJ Liguori

**Chapter 11 - In Which PJ Liguori Fails to Stay Out of It **(TW: non-graphic mentions of serious injuries, vomit)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, November 10th, 2013<strong>_

**(3:04 P.M.)**

Fifteen minutes later, there was a firm knock at the door.

"Come in," Ben called, shuffling papers into a semi-organised pile.

The door quickly opened and PJ Liguori took a small step in. "Yeah, uh, Hazel said you wanted to see me?"

"I do," Ben agreed, motioning to the seat across the table. "Please, sit down."

"What do you need me for?"

"You were one of the only people here who witnessed the entire battle without taking a side. Do you have any idea how hard it was to find someone who could give a relatively unbiased account?"

Ben sighed and ran a weary hand through his hair, "Have a seat please."

Hesitating for a moment, PJ nodded and finally shut the door. He walked over to the table and sat down across from Ben.

"How did you even manage staying neutral with so many friends involved?" asked Ben.

PJ shrugged, "I try to stay out of drama."

"Fair enough," Ben concluded. "Alright. Let's begin, shall we? Name?"

"PJ Liguori."

"Colony?"

"Okay?" PJ replied, raising his inflection at the end.

"God, not this again…" Ben mumbled. "Could you just write it down please?" He passed over a pen and the legal pad.

PJ obliged and jotted the name down on the paper.

"Occupation?" Ben went on.

"Artist and story teller."

"Registered superpower?"

"Atmokinesis."

"And that would be?"

"Control of the weather."

"That must be fun," Ben remarked. "Superhero name?"

"The Weather Man."

"Logical."

"Thanks."

"Alright, you say you tell stories," Ben said. "Well, this is a very important story to tell. I've been told you'd be cinematic gold, Mr. Liguori."

"I'll try not to disappoint."

**xxxxx**

_**Friday, November 8th, 2013**_

**(11:26 P.M.)**

It was insanity in the nerdiest of ways, which would have been paradise for me if not for the circumstances. Plastic lightsabers and wands waved in the air. Sonic screwdrivers of every generation buzzed their too-familiar sound. Groups clustered together and through the small gaps in the crowds, I could catch glimpses of cards being played and dice being thrown. Fake laser guns blasted everywhere, and over the noise, I could hear faint shouts of, "Hey, I shot you, you can't use that leg anymore!" or "No way, that missed my arm by a mile!"

I don't know what I'd expected a fan war to be like, but it looked about right. They weren't barbarians; they were just a bit ticked off.

Personally, the 'war' meant nothing to me. I'd never really picked a side, nor did anyone ask me to. It's not that I didn't like Alex's music or didn't think Carrie was trying to help, I'm just not one for conflict. Especially when I'm not particularly close to either of the parties involved. And if I'm being honest, something didn't sit right about this entire situation… but information was hard to come by.

I was in the middle of brainstorming how to turn this pseudo-war into a video (I mean, imagine this craziness with life size insects and insane clowns! _That's_ a video worth making) when two voices, not twenty feet away, rose above the general commotion.

"How _dare _you say Ianthony is not real!" a comely girl with half seafoam green, half pastel pink hair screamed. "It's more real than Phan!"

"Have you ever seen the way they look at each other?" a plump girl with a short, red bob seethed.

"Neither of them are even gay!"

"They both admitted they were bi once!"

"Oh, please, not that rumour again…"

"It ISN'T a rumour! There's proof! That's more than you can say for Ian and Anthony. One of them is _engaged_ for god's sake."

"He's just in denial right now!"

Tyler rushed between them, begging them to stop before they killed someone. I pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose and sighed—this was mad.

I heard a groan and looked to my left to see Dan Howell. He was standing at a booth, fiddling offhandedly with some fireworks that I'm sure were meant for the midnight release and shaking his head as he stared at the girls. I couldn't agree more.

I'd just begun to call his name when I saw Phil run up, desperately trying to talk to him. I knew the two weren't doing well—everyone did—but the reason why was fuzzy. Like I said, information was hard to come by.

"Dan please," Phil was saying as Dan continued to mess with the fireworks, except now he was staring at them intensely, not making eye contact with Phil. "You can't really still be upset about it."

Dan made a quick glance up from his hands and sighed, "Phil, I'm really busy. I was supposed to set these fireworks up ages ago." There was an awkward pause that even I felt before he spoke again. "And it is a big deal Phil, I can't even pronounce my own name."

"It's still danisnotonfire, you've just got some numbers in it!"

"It looks like I'm a crazed fangirl freaking out over myself!" Dan yelled as he set the firework in a holder in front of Phil and picked up a lighter, trying to light the fuse.

"It doesn't even matter unless you write it out!"

"It matters to me—ow!"

I was staring at Dan in shock when I heard Phil go, "Dan… did you just—"

"No!" Dan snapped. "O-Of course not!"

But all three of us knew he was lying. Dan had just burned himself trying to light the firework.

"Dan…"

"Phil, I couldn't have. You know my super power! Don't be stupid!"

Dan was vigorously trying to light the firework now and I was beginning to feel uneasy because it didn't seem like he had any idea what he was doing. "Dan!" I called, but they don't seem to hear me.

"You lied to me!" Phil yelled. "Me! I'm your _best_ friend!"

The fuse was lit now and I was really worried about its position. "Guys!" I yelped. "Look out!"

There was a flash of light and a loud scream and I knew I was too late. The next thing I saw was Phil, crumpled on the ground, arms over his face.

"Phil!" Dan shouted. "Oh my god! Oh my god!" He leapt over the booth to the still screaming Phil and pulled him into his lap.

The rest of the battle field went eerily quiet—Phil's screams were all that stood out. Everything felt surreal as I raced over and knelt down on the other side of Dan, prying Phil's arms away from his eyes for a second so that we could see what had happened.

I won't go into detail, but it wasn't pretty. I shouted for someone to get help, but there were already several people running so I focused my attention back on my friends.

"Oh god, I didn't know it was lit! I didn't mean to!" Dan blubbered, clinging to his agonised friend. "Phil I'm so sorry! Oh god, this is my fault!"

"Dan, shut up, you're getting him upset," I whispered, then said to Phil, "Try not to move, alright?"

"I-I ca-can't s-see," he choked back.

"Don't worry about that right now. You just hold still," I said as calmly as I could. "We're getting help."

Hazel did her best to keep the encroaching crowd back and give Phil some room. "Everyone stay calm, okay?" she commanded. "Let's not make this any worse."

Dan kept desperately trying to apologise, but Phil didn't acknowledge him or move his hands from his face. After what seemed like an eternity, Tyler Oakley shouted that he could see medics coming down the hill.

I glanced up and saw the small collection of llamas hurrying down from the hospital and sighed in relief. "It's going to be okay, Phil," I said. "Me and Dan are right here, I promise."

**xxxxx**

PJ had to stop recounting for a minute because his voice was starting to shake as the traumatic scene replayed in his mind. "Sorry," he whispered. "Just give me a sec."

"It's fine," Ben said gently, "take your time."

PJ closed his eyes and took a few breaths. When he'd collected himself again he looked back up at Ben. "I was so fucking scared," he admitted quietly. "I was trying so hard to keep it together because clearly Dan couldn't… but I was so fucking scared. I mean, the way he was screaming and… his eyes and…" he trailed off.

"It's alright," Ben said, "you don't have to describe it. We have the reports from the hospital, as well as a few other witnesses."

PJ nodded gratefully.

"But," Ben went on, "we do still need to know what happened to Alex."

PJ nodded again, but this time resignedly. "Okay…"

**xxxxx**

_**Saturday, November 9th, 2013**_

**(12:15 A.M.)**

The medics had just arrived and were tending to Phil. I was stood a few paces back with Dan, watching intently. Suddenly, I felt someone grab hold of my arm and start dragging me away through the crowd.

"Whoa! Stop! I have to make sure he's okay! He's my friend!" I protested.

"I know he's your friend, Peej, but we have a bigger problem!" said Tom Milsom hastily, still dragging me through the crowd. "Alex hasn't come out of the studio since the music went out!"

"And?" I looked back, straining to see Phil through the crowd. At least the llamas were there so he'd be getting help. I supposed there wasn't much I could be doing for him anyway.

"Well, if he really cared so much about this release party, he would have been out in seconds to find out why the music cut out, but he didn't. Something's must've happened and I need to find him."

"Okay, but why do you need _me_?" I asked.

"Because this whole island is fucking crazy! You didn't pick a side in this war, so I figured you're probably the most level-headed out of all of us."

I almost wanted to say '_Have you ever actually seen one of my videos?' _but I bit my tongue because that wasn't what he needed to hear. "Fine," I agreed.

Tom led me through the distracted crowd and into the studio. We flew down the halls, checking empty room after empty room and growing increasingly nervous. I was beginning to wonder if the war outside the studio had freaked Alex out so much that he'd fled out the back door, when Tom opened the door to one of the back rooms and gasped. Inside, Alex was curled up on the ground in the fetal position, laying in his own vomit.

"Oh my god," Tom murmured, taking a step out of the room. "Do you think he's… dead?"

I covered my mouth and nose with my sleeve before dropping down next to Alex and grabbing his left wrist (which thankfully had managed not to land in sick). I checked for a pulse and sighed in relief when I felt it beat against my fingers.

Turning to Tom, who looked more scared than I'd ever seen him, I said, "He's alive. Go get the medics—we're gonna need help."

He nodded, looking somewhat relieved, and ran back to the front of the studio. While I waited, I rolled Alex out of his vomit—trying hard not to get any on myself—and looked for something to clean him up with. There was no towel of any sort in the room and I didn't want to leave him in case he threw up again or became conscious and freaked out, so I stripped off my jumper and cleaned him up best I could. Once I was done, I decided he could keep the jumper; I didn't like it much anyway.

Two paramedics—both llamas—arrived a few minutes later with Tom and loaded Alex onto a stretcher. Alex had begun trembling slightly, and they spoke quickly to each other in French as they worked on him. I didn't really understand what they were saying, but it was obvious one was very angry with the other.

I stood up slowly, watching as the llamas wheeled Alex out of the studio. Once they were out of earshot, I turned to Tom. He had his hands in this jacket pockets and looked quite pale.

"You okay?" I asked him.

"I'm fine," he said quickly. "Do you speak French?"

"No… do you?"

"Eh…" he said, making a 'so-so' gesture with his hand, "I've picked up some from hanging around the recording studio, but not really. I need to find someone who does."

Tom pulled his hand out of his pocket to show that he'd been concealing his phone. "I just recorded their conversation," he whispered as we walked back out of the studio.

"Why?" I frowned.

"I just want to know what they were arguing about," he said simply. "From what I could tell, it wasn't about anything medical."

We exited the studio just in time to hear John announce that all citizens currently in Evil Baby Orphanage must report to Town Hall immediately.

**xxxxx**

"And that brings us up to now," PJ concluded.

Ben drummed his fingers on the desk thoughtfully. "What happened to the recording?"

"Once we got to Town Hall, Tom started asking around for anyone who spoke French and could translate it. I'm not sure if he found anyone or not."

"Interesting that he didn't mention that in his interview," Ben mused. "And Tom still has the video?"

"As far as I know."

"Alright then." Ben motioned for Ciaran to stop recording and flip the lights back to normal. He stood up and shook PJ's hand. "Thanks so much for your time. You can go back to Town Hall now. There should be an officer waiting outside to escort you back."

PJ sighed. "No problem. Hope I could help." He started moving towards the door.

"PJ?" Ben called. "One more thing…"

He stopped. "Yeah?"

"Could you please give this note to Tom?" Ben asked quietly, jotting something down on a sheet of paper he'd ripped from the legal pad. "And could you also ask him not to show it to anyone else, for any reason?"

PJ nodded slowly. He took the paper from Ben, folded it up, and put it in his pocket before stepping out of the studio to be escorted back.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Boots (fanfic: kickingpj)**


	12. Alex Day

**Chapter 12 – In Which Alex is Scared, Alone, Confused, and Sorry at the Same Time **(TW: panic attack, vomit)

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, November 10th, 2013<strong>_

**(5:38 P.M.)**

Alex Day sat up in his hospital bed with blankets up to his chin, shaking uncontrollably as he dry-heaved at a pink plastic bin. Padded restraints around his wrists and ankles made it impossible for him to move much.

Ben and Ciaran both winced as the gagging noises continued. They were adjusting the cameras for the interview (which they had determined they would have to do _without_ the fancy lighting equipment due to Alex's apparent light-induced nausea).

Strangely, Alex wasn't the only citizen in such a state. All throughout the hospital, the beds were filled with trembling, vomiting, disoriented patients. Alex seemed to be amongst the worst of the lot, but at least he was finally conscious enough to question.

"You alright?" Ben asked awkwardly.

Alex lifted his eyes from the bin just long enough to roll them in the interviewer's direction. "Never better," he muttered.

By the time they had finished setting everything up, Alex had stopped heaving and was just back to trembling.

"Are you cold?" Ben asked.

Alex shook his head wearily, eyes closed. "No. The nurse said I've b-been shaking since they b-brought me in."

Ben nodded and sat down in the plastic chair next to the bed. "I have to say, for someone accused of a serious crime, you don't look that impressive right now."

"Crime…?" Alex murmured. He scrunched up his face in confusion. "Is that why they tied me up? Did I hurt someone?"

"You don't remember the war?" Ben frowned.

Alex shook his head again, looking scared. "People keep ta-talking about it, but I just… I don't…" he trailed off.

"It's okay. Let's focus on what you do remember then," Ben went on. "Maybe it'll help jog your memory." He signaled for Ciaran to begin filming. "What's your name?"

"Alex Day."

"Colony?"

"E.B.O."

"Occupation?"

"I'm a m-musician."

"An _extremely successful_ musician, evidently," Ben remarked. "Toucan Tales has broken just about every previous record for pre-order sales."

"Did it?" Alex questioned.

"It did. You don't remember that?"

"No. Wait, m-maybe… Oh god, I don't know," he groaned.

"Just tell me what you do know then. How did this all start?"

Alex took a deep breath and leaned back against the bed. "I guess… I guess it started this spring… when everything was falling apart…"

**xxxxx**

_**Tuesday, March 12th, 2013**_

**(3:45 P.M.)**

I still wrote songs all the time, but I hardly ever released them to the public. Those that I did release received mediocre reviews. I was beginning to feel like a failure—like my creativity had peaked already and nothing even near as good would ever come out of my brain again.

Normally, I'm not one to let YouTube comments get to me, but this one… this was the one really hit close to home: "_You're straying too far from your roots, Alex._"

_Was _I"straying too far from my roots"? I knew I'd changed of course, but that was to be expected, wasn't it? I'd learned a lot in my years of music production—I _should_ be changing. But there was just something about that particular comment that seemed to confirm something I'd been afraid of for a long time—I was just another former indie kid sellout.

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, March 13th, 2013**_

**(6:54 P.M.)**

The next morning, I decided to go back and analyse my very first songs. If I was really straying from my roots, then I needed to figure out just what those "roots" were. Maybe I could deconstruct each of my old songs to find out what was missing from the new ones. So, I packed my things and set off to the only recording studio on our little island.

Felix, the recording studio manager, set me up in one of the back rooms and left me to it. I started by listening to all my old songs, especially those from Parrot Stories_. _I didn't really see the attraction at first. The songs were… simple. Cliché almost. Why were people so attached to them when my newer songs were so much more impressive?

I was analysing "Don't Look Back" for what felt like the millionth time when Felix knocked gently on the door before entering the room.

"Pardon me, Monsieur Day, but it is nearing seven o'clock," he reminded. "I shall need to be closing soon."

"Is it really that late?" I asked, checking my phone. "Shit. I barely got anything done…"

"May I ask what you are working on?"

He listened intently to my explanation, asking me all kinds of questions about my old music and what I pictured for my new album. It was really nice. Felix said he would keep the room reserved for me the next few days, and even offered to let me leave all my stuff there overnight so that I wouldn't have to spend so much time setting up the next day. I agreed and headed home, thinking of the person I was back when I wrote Parrot Stories.

I spent most of the next week in the studio, but something started to feel kind of off. Every time I would listen to one of the songs, I would be completely taken over by the memories that inspired them in the first place. I wasn't in the studio anymore; I was strolling the streets of Italy, or riding a ferris wheel with my old girlfriend, or waiting for the train and reminiscing. Nostalgia washed over me and I found myself zoning out for periods of time.

Despite this, I felt compelled to keep working on them. I'd strip the songs apart and analyse each piece. Progress was slow due to all the zoning out, but eventually I found what was missing from my new songs.

**xxxxx**

"And what was that?" asked Ben.

Alex didn't answer right away. He wouldn't look up from the bed sheets for a few moments.

"What was missing?" Ben prompted again.

"I-I can't—" Alex started. Tears threatened to roll down his cheeks. He lifted his hand to brush them off but was stopped by the restraints. "Fuck," he muttered bitterly as the tears escaped, "can't they take these fucking things off? I can't remember anything!"

"I'm sorry," Ben said quietly. "Do you need me to call the nurse?"

Alex sniffed and shook his head, trying to collect himself. "No, I'm fine. It's okay—I know what they'll say."

Ben nodded and waited for him to calm down.

"I really don't remember what happened or what I figured out," Alex said after a bit. "I just remember working in the studio a lot. I must've gone home sometimes, but I don't really remember. Well, one time I remember…"

**xxxxx**

_**Sunday, August 4th, 2013**_

**(12:31 P.M.)**

I blinked and I was sitting on the sofa in the flat. I didn't know how I got there. I had no recollection of getting home.

"...So anyway, I've finally found a place closer to the office," Charlie was saying. How long had he been talking to me? "I'll be moving in next week, but before that… Alex? Alex, are you listening?"

I blinked a few more times and looked over at him. "How… Charlie? How did I get here?"

"What do you mean?" He frowned. "You've been sat here drinking tea for the past half hour."

"Oh… right. Yeah." Nothing was making sense. Was I drunk or something? I didn't feel _drunk_ exactly, but something was definitely not right.

"Are you okay?" Charlie asked.

"Just tired. You were saying?"

I don't know why I lied. All I know is that it felt really important in that moment that he couldn't know.

"Okay, if you're sure," he said hesitantly. "So on Tuesday…"

That's the last thing I remember Charlie saying to me. I don't even know if I answered him, but I guess I must've because my next memory is of waving at him as he drove away in the moving van. I was so confused. Why had he left? Charlie wouldn't just decide to move out without telling me, right? Surely, we must have talked about it before… But why didn't I remember that conversation?

**xxxxx**

Alex took a few deep breaths. "It just got worse after that. Whole days were missing."

Ben nodded and flipped through his legal pad. "So that brings us up to August 9th. That's when Charlie moved out."

"Are you sure?" Alex asked. He lifted his hands towards his head again, but was stopped by the restraints. "Oh god, my head hurts," he groaned. "It's so hard to remember anything…"

**xxxxx**

_**Wednesday, August 14th, 2013**_

**(5:00 P.M.)**

Someone was tugging on my arm.

"Come on, I'm taking you home and I'm going to make Charlie barricade you in your room for the next ten hours so that you fucking get some sleep! Jesus!"

Tom Milsom? How long had he been there? His face was actually quite scary—he looked so intense. I had no idea why he was insisting that I come with him. I didn't even know why I was at the recording studio in the first place.

Charlie… I knew something about Charlie. What was it? "Charlie moved out," I found myself saying.

Tom let go of my arm. "He what?"

We must've talked some more, but I don't remember the rest. Tom took me back home and told me to stay in my room and not come out until I'd slept a whole night.

**xxxxx**

"Did Tom stay the night with me?" Alex asked quietly. He seemed so small in the bed and the trembling was getting worse.

Ben consulted his legal pad again. "He says he stayed two nights, and then he made sure to check up on you every few days until Dan Howell moved in. Do you remember any of that?"

Alex closed his eyes tightly, straining to recall anything. "Dan? Wait… I think I remember Dan…"

**xxxxx**

_**Monday, October 28th, 2013**_

**(11:14 A.M.)**

"... and this is the essential element, it makes the whole song come together beautifully, and… um…" I trailed off, not sure what I was saying.

I was sitting at my kitchen table, across from Dan Howell. He was eating cereal and looking annoyed. Why was Dan there? Did I invite him over? I looked down at the notebook I had in my hands—it was full of new songs and lyrics, all written in my own handwriting.

"Sorry, what were we talking about?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes. "Considering the past eighty or so conversations we've attempted have been about your new album, I'm gonna go ahead and guess that."

"Oh."

What did he mean "eighty conversations"? How long had he been there? Nothing made sense—I couldn't form a single clear thought.

**xxxxx**

Alex sighed. "And I think that's all I remember."

Ben nodded. "So you don't remember anything about Carrie coming?"

"Carrie came?" Alex asked, furrowing his brow. "Did she finally move here?"

"Interesting…" Ben commented.

"Wait! When did Carrie come?"

"September 2nd."

"Really? Fuck, why can't I remember that?" whimpered Alex. "Wait, why can't I remember?"

"It's okay," Ben reassured. "If you don't remember, you don't remember."

"No! It's not okay!" Alex cried anxiously. Tears welled up in his eyes again and his breathing quickened. "That was important a-and I can't remember! Why can't I remember?"

Ben got up and walked closer to the bed. He couldn't bring himself to care about keeping up his detached, professional persona when his friend was freaking out. "Alex, you need to calm down, alright? Please. I don't want you to hurt yourself."

"Why am I here?" Alex panicked, suddenly struggling against the restraints as if he had just noticed them. "Wait, why am I tied up? What did you do to me?"

"Nurse?" Ciaran called. He strode quickly out of the room. "Can someone help us here?"

"I didn't do anything to you," Ben explained carefully. "The doctors are just worried that—"

"What doctors? I need to get out!" He was starting to hyperventilate. "Please! Let me out!"

"Shit. Alex," Ben pleaded, trying his best to keep his voice calm and steady, "you'll be alright—I promise. Those are for your safety. It's going to be alright." He gently placed a hand on the sobbing man's arm.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Alex shrieked.

Ben recoiled instantly. "Okay, I'm not touching you."

"Let me out! P-Please let me out! I can't remember! I-I can't… breathe…" Alex choked out, "I-I… ca-can't…"

Three nurses—two llamas and a human—moved quickly into the room, followed closely by Ciaran. Ben stepped back from the bed to make room. In a flash of green scrubs, wool, and urgent-sounding French and English instructions, one of the llamas helped the human to attach an oxygen mask on Alex's face.

The remaining llama ushered the little film crew out of the door. "Thank you for your concern," she said briskly, "but you shall have to wait in the hall."

"Wait, what are you giving him?" Ben called back, noticing that the other nurses were preparing to inject something into Alex's IV. "What is that?"

"A mild sedative to ensure that he does not harm himself or others," the first nurse replied. Still guiding them firmly toward the door, she went on, "Monsieur Day is experiencing a psychotic episode and is unavailable for further questioning at this time. Please sign out at the front desk. Your recording equipment shall be returned shortly. Thank you."

And with that, she pushed Ben and Ciaran out of the hospital room and shut the door behind them.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter was co-written with Angela (tumblr: jamesisnotonfire)**


	13. Benjamin Cook

**Chapter 13 - In Which Benjamin Cook Accuses Just About Everyone**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, November 10th, 2013<strong>_

**(10:20 P.M.)**

The Town Hall buzzed nervously as an exhausted looking Benjamin Cook made his way back to the lectern. After nearly forty-eight hours of detainment, the citizens were anxious to hear his findings. Most of the llamas lined the back of the room, jotting down notes on clipboards, presumably acting as court reporters.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Nerdfighteria," Ben announced. "This has been quite an adventure."

The crowd murmured.

"I've interviewed thirteen people over the past two days and I have determined that this island... is really fucked up."

"No shit, Sherlock!" someone in the back called. He was quickly shushed by his neighbours.

"To be perfectly honest," Ben continued, "there are _so many_ guilty people in this room, it's almost easier to list those of you who _aren't_ guilty."

Quite a few people shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Carrie stared at her shoes, Jack and Dean exchanged a worried glance, and Dan looked as though he might be sick.

"But the most interesting aspect of this case is the sheer _variety_ of offences! Good lord, look at this shit! I had to make a fucking chart!" Ben exclaimed, pointing up at the presentation screen behind him.

Ciaran clicked on the first slide of the PowerPoint and Ben read out the names. "Let's see… John Green, Hank Green, Charlie McDonnell, and Tyler Oakley. You all were involved in Nerdfighteria's first official government cover-up. Congratu-fucking-lations!"

John and Hank looked sheepish. Charlie gulped and Tyler sighed deeply.

"Unfortunately, whilst that was _extremely_ unethical, you didn't actually break any laws," Ben sighed, "so we can't charge you under Nerdfighterian law. We could however make an argument for failure to respond to an obvious crisis."

"Hey! I object to that!" Tyler called. "I was right in the middle of the battle!"

"And I was still filling out incident reports," Charlie added. "Hank told me to."

"I was more referring the Greens," Ben said, "but it's nice to know you feel responsible too."

John and Hank didn't speak, but nodded to indicate that Ben should go on.

"Carrie Fletcher," began Ben, signaling for the next slide, "Jack Howard, Dean Dobbs, Tom Milsom, and Hazel Hayes. You led a guerrilla war which resulted in the destruction of one public park bench, three collectable figurines, thirty-eight rare trading cards, the east side of Town Square, and Philip Lester's eyesight."

The crowd gasped sharply. Carrie covered her face with her hands, crying quietly with grief. The rest remained still and sullen. In the back, most of the llamas continued jotting notes, but French stopped and wiped at the sides of his eyes with his hoof.

"Of course," he went on, "Phil would _also_ be charged with inciting the war, so you could make the case that it was his own fault. Or…" he said, signaling for the next slide, "we could focus on the one directly responsible. Daniel Howell, could be charged with unlawful and irresponsible use of fireworks, resulting in grievous bodily harm."

Tears streamed silently down Dan's face and his bottom lip trembled as he tried desperately to keep from sobbing with each inhale.

"...But, that's sort of irrelevant because—unlike the owner of the first-edition holographic Charizard—Phil doesn't want to press charges."

Dan nodded and sniffed. Phil had already told him that at the hospital, but part of him had worried that his friend might change his mind at the last minute. Of course, he hadn't.

Ciaran flipped to the next slide. "That brings us up to the WOTOs," Ben said with a glare. "You guys were absolute arseholes on that stupid show of yours… but basically all you did was… uh, encourage mass loitering."

They both shrugged.

"Sorry," Liam apologised.

"Won't happen again," added Brad.

Ben rolled his eyes and went to the next slide. "PJ Liguori, you didn't really have any part in this war, but when I looked through your file I found like _six_ unpaid parking tickets so you'd better get on those."

"Oh yeah, I've been meaning to do that…" PJ said, running his fingers through his hair nervously. "Sorry."

Ciaran switched to the final slide. "And now, it gets messy," Ben said, pacing away from the lectern. "Alex Day has been accused of using mind control to influence the sales of his new album, Toucan Tales. Whilst Alex denies these claims, it does seem a bit hard to explain why else 70% of the island's population was gathered for its release, or why nearly everyone pre-ordered the _digital copies_ multiple times."

Liam jumped up. "Objection, your honour!" he yelped.

"Overruled," Ben called back immediately.

"On what grounds?"

"You're a twat?"

"Okay." Liam sat back down and giggled. "Always wanted to do that."

"So have I." Ben grinned. He cleared his throat quickly. "But that's not important. Back to Alex. If he were actually using mind control, then he would've broken P.L. 221-B, _The Law for the Restriction of the Unnecessary Display and/or Use of Certain Enhanced Super-Human Abilities in Non-Life-Threatening Situations _as he would have been enslaving the minds of everyone here. That would of course mean that no one here is responsible for their actions…" Ben gazed over the crowd as he spoke, "meaning that all four hundred or so of you here are off the hook."

More murmurs and gulps passed through the citizens.

"But, on the other hand," Ben said, pivoting sharply to pace in the other direction, "he could be completely innocent. Or even… a victim."

Ben raised his eyebrows at Ciaran, who nodded knowingly and inconspicuously stepped off the stage. "See," Ben went on, "there's one possibility that we haven't explored yet… maybe, just maybe… YOU'RE ALL _FUCKING_ _LIARS_!" he shouted.

Instantly, Ciaran cut all the lights in the room. Whilst the audience jumped up and shrieked in surprise, he then moved one of the benches in front of the door, barricading them all in.

"What are you doing?!" John Green demanded.

"What you should have done a long fucking time ago!" Ben shot back. He called out to the crowd, "No one can see you right now—it's totally safe. I'm going to count to three, and then everyone who _genuinely_ has superpowers is going to raise their hand as high as they can in the air, understand? One… Two… Three!"

Ciaran flipped the lights back on. The citizens blinked and looked around. Only about a dozen people were raising their hands, but they quickly lowered them as soon as they saw that they were in the minority. Those who were standing also sat down.

"_Fucking thank you_!" Ben cried happily, arms in the air. "There, now doesn't that feel better?"

"Wait, wait… _no one_ has a power?" Hank asked incredulously.

"Correct."

"But Phil can talk to animals," Hank protested.

Ben shook his head. "No he can't."

"Dan walked through fire."

"It was a trick."

"PJ controls the weather."

"Yeah… no."

"But then what about Alex?" Carrie interrupted. "Are you saying there was no mind control involved?"

Dean joined in. "Yeah! Why were people buying so many copies, even when they had no money? And why doesn't Chris have a kidney anymore?" he threw in, glancing to the back of the room where Chris was sat next to French.

More shouts echoed through the room as people demanded answers. The suggestion that_ they,_ in fact, were responsible for their actions rather than Alex was an unpopular one, to say the least.

"I sold my MacBook so that I could keep preordering!" a girl exclaimed.

A boy with a fringe covering half his face cried, "And I camped outside of his house for _days_!"

"I think I used to have a kid?" one lady said uncertainly.

Her neighbour gasped, "Good lord!"

"No, no, like a young goat," she clarified. "But… now that I think about it, I think I sold him to buy more music." She covered her mouth with her hand and murmured, "Oh heavens, I've sold Bartholomew."

"Oh, that's all?" Her neighbour laughed. "Well I used to have a house, so I guess we're even."

"Guys!" Hazel snapped. "This is serious! If Alex _doesn't _have the ability to control minds, then what the _hell _happened to everyone? And why are people sick?"

"That's a very good question," Ben said, "and I have a very good answer for you. Unfortunately, it's in French." He glanced over at Ciaran yet again, who gave him a thumbs up to indicate he was ready. "Roll film! _Allons-y_!_"_

Ben stepped carefully off the stage and into the crowd.

**xxxxx **

The large screen behind where he'd stood displayed the fuzzy, shaky image of the two medics surrounding Alex Day, recorded by Tom's mobile phone. They were in the midst of a heated argument as they attached equipment to him to measure his vitals:

The first llama spoke urgently in French, _"Nous ne pouvons pas partir maintenant!"_ A blue annotation that Ben and Ciaran had added to the bottom of the video translated, _'We cannot leave now!_'

The other kept her voice steady, as she replied in French. The citizens followed along with the annotation—this time yellow—and read, _'We have enough research. Staying will only further jeopardise the mission.'_

_'We have no idea how the stimulants will affect them long term! We know nothing of side effects! Dependency! Withdrawl! To leave now would be to endanger countless lives.'_

_'It is not our responsibility to protect the humans. We came only to observe.'_

_'Observe?! You have the audacity to call this observation?!'_

_'We observed the effects of the stimulants in a controlled environment. Would you prefer our testing be done on our own kind?'_

'_This is barbaric!'_

_'This is science, Eliot!' _The video showed the llamas shuffling around, preparing to transfer Alex to the stretcher. _'We lift on three… one, two, three!'_ They quickly moved the shaking man from the ground to the gurney. _'Good,' _read the yellow box. '_Once he is stabilised, we are leaving. This is not open for discussion.'_

_'You've clearly overdosed him! He's trembling! We must wait to see what becomes of him and how he reacts… how they all react!'_

_'He'll be fine once it wears off.'_

_'We don't know that! We know nothing! This is all experimental and to leave now would be cruel!'_

_'You were instructed not to form emotional bonds with the test subjects.'_

_'They have souls, Chloé! They have lives! Friends! Families!'_

_'You were never cut out for this job…'_

_'I refuse to abandon this island until we understand how the stimulants will affect them.'_

_'Eliot, that could take weeks…'_

_'So be it!'_

_'Eliot—'_ _'_

_I will not board the ship.'_

There was a pause before the second medic spoke again, _"_Je parlerai au capitaine pour toi._"_

_'I will speak to the captain for you,' _translated the little yellow box.

**xxxxx**

Whilst the islanders were following along with the video, Ben focused his attention on the back of the room. The assembled llamas had ceased taking notes and had taken to urgently conversing amongst themselves in French. As discretely as possible, Ben slipped through the crowd and pressed a finger to his ear.

"Bryarly? Can you hear them?" he whispered into his concealed microphone. "Do you know what they're saying?"

"Yeah," came her quiet reply through his earpiece. Bryarly Bishop was seated in the row directly in front of the llamas, straining to make out the words behind her. "They're talking about some sort of 'portal'… how much time is left… uh… something about the roof," she murmured. "Uh… hospital… stimulant… nostalgia? I think he said nostalgia."

Ben listened carefully to Bryarly's scattered interpretation. The video lasted about a minute and a half, but the llamas didn't so much as move from their seats.

"They keep talking about the roof," she whispered. "And… atoms?"

The video came to an end and the citizens chattered anxiously amongst themselves.

"They're counting down," Bryarly said. She repeated the words as she heard them, "_Quatorze… Treize… Douze…"_

Ben figured he couldn't wait any longer. He raced towards the llamas shouting, "Don't let the them escape!"

"You impatient idiot!" Clarice chastised in English, holding up a small device, about the size and shape of a mobile phone. "You must allow _time_ for the De-atomiser to complete its cycle to ensure clean transport through solid enclosures! Idiot! That is _literally_ space travel 101!"

"What the hell?" Ben demanded.

"We are terribly sorry for this!" French said regrettably as Clarice promptly pressed a button on the device.

Instantly, there was a deafeningly loud sucking sound, like someone trying to get the last bits of a smoothie through a straw, and a bright flash of light. The citizens screamed and shielded their eyes.

When they looked up again, all of the llamas were gone… and so was the roof.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This chapter... was kinda just me**


	14. The Madman

**Chapter 14 - In Which a Madman Testifies**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Sunday, November 10th, 2013<strong>_

**(11:33 P.M.)**

Once some of the initial shock wore off, the entire Town Hall was filled with the clatter of anxious citizens, desperately trying to understand.

"Wh-Where is the roof?!" John Green cried, gazing up at the star-filled night sky above them.

"It's… gone." Hank gawked. "Just gone. Not like, pieces of it—the whole thing is gone. And the llamas… gone."

"I think I can explain," called a quavering voice from the back of the room.

Nearly everyone in the crowd turned in the direction of the voice, hoping for answers. But as soon as they'd identified the speaker, many groaned in annoyance.

Ben glanced over at John and Hank for guidance. There was a reason, of course, as to _why_ they had not chosen that particular citizen to give a testimony, but at that moment, desperation took the place of discernment. The mayors nodded, indicating he should go on.

"_Really_?" Ben asked the speaker. "You think _you_ can explain what happened?"

The man nodded, walking towards the stage. "But you're going to have to keep an open mind. It's going to go against everything you've come to believe… everything _they_ _made_ you believe."

Ben frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'll just start here," he said, stepping onto the stage. "Hi. My name in Chris Kendall, and I'm not actually insane."

**xxxxx**

_**Monday, September 10th, 2012**_

**(9:58 A.M.)**

I had only been on the island for about a week, having come over with the majority of the first generation YouTubers—Dan, Phil, PJ, Hazel, Tom and everyone. It was the morning of my immigration appointment and I was running late. I had only about two minutes before my appointment was scheduled to start when I had arrived at the office.

Charlie wasn't at his desk—a sign said that he was on break—so I decided to just follow the signs and show myself to the office.

That was my first mistake.

I walked down the long, winding corridors, reading the various signs on the doors, but didn't see anything related to immigration. After searching for several minutes, I realised that the capitol building was a hell of a lot bigger than I'd first thought. I needed to find someone to ask or else I was going to miss my appointment altogether.

One of the doors was slightly open and it read, 'Chief Law Enforcement Official'. Muffled voices were coming from inside, but I couldn't quite make them out.

I should have just turned around, walked the other way, and never gotten involved in any of this… but I was late. I was about to knock on the door when I heard a female voice say something in French.

A voice that I recognised as belonging to Felix from the recording studio cut her off. "Oh just use English, Clarice. No one is around to hear us and I need more practice. I am working on my '_th_' sounds this week."

"Fine," the one who must have been Clarice said shortly, "but we do the lab reports _en français_. English has too many idiotic rules."

"_Bien_. Now, what is our mission status?" Felix asked.

_Mission status? What mission?_ I thought.

"Let's me see…" she began. I could hear stacks of papers rustling. "Oh, where did I put the checklist?"

"You lost it?"

"No, no, definitely not… Just hang on…" More rustling. "_Putain_," she muttered in French.

Felix sighed irritably. "Honestly, why did we put you in charge?"

"Because I am head of the Intergalactic Sociology Department and this entire experiment would be doomed without me," she retorted as she continued shuffling papers. "Not to mention, I am your spouse… Wait! Got it!"

At that moment, I should have just walked away. Clearly, they were busy and it was far too late to knock on the door and ask for directions. But curiosity kept me there, listening through the partially open door. Experiment? Intergalactic Sociology Department? Nerdfighteria didn't have an intergalactic… anything. What were they talking about?

"Ugh, finally," Felix huffed.

"_Tais-toi_. Okay… uh, it says, 'Locate a group of humans interested in utopian island development'… check. 'Coerce them into purchasing a private island'… check. 'Assume the form of the Internet's most beloved animal'… check."

"That was all significantly easier than I had first expected," Felix commented.

"That is because _someone_ remembered to bring the trust serum… do you remember who that someone was, Felix dear?" Clarice asked patronisingly.

Trust serum? I thought back to the story John and Hank had told us about how they met the llamas and assimilated them into Nerdfighterian society… that might explain a few things.

He sighed deeply. "I have no idea… perhaps it was my humble wife? JUST READ THE BLOODY LIST!"

"Shh! Quiet!" Clarice whispered urgently. "We will be overheard!"

"No one is here—stop worrying. Now, read the list."

"Fine," she agreed, "uh… 'win over their trust with a tragic back-story about our oppressed past… yada, yada'… check."

Felix laughed. "I quite enjoyed that!"

"I did as well—French is a brilliant story-teller. Next we have, 'assist in the establishment of a highly exclusive utopian society' and 'acquire positions of power and authority in the community'… check and check!"

"So when do we begin experimenting with the stimulants?" he asked.

Stimulants? What the hell did they need 'stimulants' for? Was that the same as the 'trust serum'?

That was when a mosquito flew up my nose and I fucking sneezed. I tried to muffle it in my elbow, but the sound echoed through the empty corridor.

Their voices stopped abruptly. I froze as my mind raced through my options. I could run now, miss the end of their conversation, and try to convince those in authority that their beloved llamas had ulterior motives despite having no proof… or I could just stay still and hope for the best.

Before I knew what was happening, they'd flung open the door. Two enormous, furry beasts stepped out, glaring in my direction. "Who are you? Why are you here?" the one who must have been Clarice demanded gruffly.

"I-I have no idea how I got here! Must've taken a wrong turn!" I babbled. "I was trying to get to my immigration appointment, so maybe if you could just point me in the right direction, I-I'll be on my way—so sorry to interrupt!"

I tried to hurry away, but Felix clamped the hood of my jacket between his teeth, stopping me.

"Who are you?" Clarice demanded again. "What do you know?"

"M-My name's Chris Kendall, but guys, really, I'm just passing through here… barely heard a word," I pleaded. "Now I'm really quite late and you know how hard it is to get on the immigration calendar, so it's just really important that I be going now so—"

They dragged me roughly inside, sat me down at the table, and locked the door behind them. "You will wait until we have decided what to do with you," Clarice commanded before turning back to her husband.

Even though I didn't understand the French, it was obvious that they were having a heated argument about what to do with me.

Finally, Felix turned back to me. "Congratulations, monsieur," he said, "you have just made yourself part of the control group."

"What?" I asked nervously. "What control group?"

"For the study," Felix clarified. "You will not receive the stimulant. See, in a proper scientific experiment, it is important to have one group that does not receive the variable in question in order to have a baseline against which to compare the results of other groups…" He frowned. "Were you not taught this in your public education classes?" he asked curiously. "I thought Earth was supposed to be a fairly advanced planet…"

I bit my tongue to keep from telling him that, yes, I did know what a control group was, but that clearly wasn't the most important thing at the moment. I focused my attention on the real problem. "Wait, are you… _aliens_?" I asked.

"Of course," Felix said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "We are sociologists from the planet _Drame._ We are known across the galaxies as _Les Llamas de Drame_… surely you have heard of us?"

I shook my head no before asking, "But, if you're aliens, why do you speak _French_?"

"Because we're from France of course." Clarice shrugged.

"But I thought you just said you were aliens."

"We are," she said with a glare. "Lots of planets have a France."

"Does that mean lots of planets have an England too?" I asked curiously.

She rolled her eyes at me. "No, don't be stupid."

"Anyway," Felix went on, "we were sent from the Drame Official Intergalactic Space Exploration Program to come to Earth and perform a series of social experiments on the human population…"

"Yes, a _series_," Clarice jumped in, shooting a glare at her husband, "which would indicate one after another—not three at one time. Which would have meant starting the experiments sooner rather than trying to spend all that time sightseeing in California!"

"But how many times in your life do you get to spend five years on another planet?" he whined. "Is it not better to enjoy one's life whilst one still has it? As they say, 'hashtag YOLO'."

"Do not use the colloquial terms with me!" she snapped. "You sound like a fool!"

In between quips at each other and full-on French arguments, the llamas eventually explained their mission. Apparently, they'd come to Earth with two main goals. First, they were to establish and study a human utopian society. Second, they were to research the effects of peer pressure and miscommunication on this utopian society that was supposedly committed to eliminating drama.

Then as a side experiment, they were also supposed to test out their organisation's new 'auditory stimulant' technology on humans to see if it would be safe to move onto testing on their own species. The stimulant in question was called NO3589… the essence of nostalgia.

"Now, Monsieur Kendall, here is where you come in," Clarice said once they'd finished the explanation. "Your responsibility will be to assist in the experimental procedure. You will… how shall I say, _encourage_ certain beliefs."

"Oh I will, will I?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. "And what if I'd rather _not_ 'encourage certain beliefs'? What if I'm morally opposed to submitting my friends to _experimental drug trials_ without their consent? What if I just go to the government and tell them why you're really here?"

"Then we shall have to kill you," Clarice said simply.

"You'd… kill me?" I asked nervously.

"Yes, definitely. We could not have you jeopardising this mission—do you have any idea the costs of intergalactic travel? And in the midst of a _recession_? _Zut alors_."

"What if I kill you instead?" I blurted out. I realised too late that I probably shouldn't have said that because I had no clue how I would follow through.

Felix glanced over at Clarice quickly, as if silently asking 'can he really do that?' Clarice just scoffed in response.

"If you intend to be difficult, monsieur, we shall be even more difficult," she said. "If we catch word that you have told anyone about our plans, we shall just take out one of your friends instead… perhaps that Liguori fellow you seem so fond of?"

_Fuck._ "Y-You would kill… PJ?" I questioned, failing to keep the quiver out of my voice. "Just because _I_ didn't comply? You would kill an innocent man?"

Clarice nodded. "And there would be nothing you could do to stop it. See, we have… shall we say, some _impressive_ colleagues." She leaned in a bit closer to me and said coldly, "He would not even know what hit him."

I mean, what was I supposed to do?

**xxxxx**

The whole Town Hall sat in silence, captivated by Chris's story. One lady in the front row wiped a tear away from the corner of her eyes. PJ just stared at him, too shocked to react.

"I did what they wanted," Chris continued. "Everything they wanted."

"And what exactly was that?" Ben asked.

"I was the first one to pretend to have a superpower," he said. "I started that rumour and you all believed me because of CO2345… the trust serum."

"And what does 'trust serum' do?"

"It cures chlamydia, Ben, what do you think?" Chris said sarcastically. "It makes you trust people!"

"Then how did you deliver the serum?" Ben asked. "How did people not realise what you were doing?"

"I offered them chewing gum before we talked," explained Chris. "The serum was in the gum. They believed everything I said."

"Everyone took the gum?"

"It was pretty good gum," Chris shrugged. "Like, 'sweet peppermint' or something? Not that Orbit crap."

The crowd murmured in response as the memories came back.

Chris went on, "And then I put the nostalgia stimulant in the Parrot Stories files that Alex had at the studio so that he would be exposed to it over and over. That was a lot harder because it was an auditory stimulant and I had to get it layered just right so that he wouldn't notice it in the music."

"So it was only in _Alex's_ Parrot Stories files?" asked Ben.

"See, that was kind of where things got out of control." Chris sighed. "Originally, we were only planning to drug Alex, but Alex spent a lot of time trying to get his new music to match his old music… so much that he actually replicated the sound frequencies used in the audio stimulants."

"Which means…?" prompted Ben.

"I drugged Alex, so Alex made more of the drug and drugged everyone else," Chris said. "Accidentally, sure, but he still drugged them."

"Is that why some people are sick then?" John Green butted in.

Chris nodded. "They're detoxing. Alex had it worst because he practically _breathed_ his music."

"I have a question," Dean Dobbs called from the crowd. "Did you really sell your kidney, Chris?"

Chris let out a quick laugh. "That was special effects make-up. One of the beliefs I was supposed to 'encourage' was that the music made people do strange things… the llamas wanted Carrie to go to war."

Carrie covered her mouth with her hand.

"Why would they want a war?" the reporter asked.

"They're drama llamas, Ben. They like drama."

"Can I just take a minute to say this experiment was _terribly_ executed," Hank Green interrupted. "They had like, seven variables at once! And they kept adding more to the mix! What was this even supposed to accomplish?"

"_Really_?" John asked, turning on his brother. "We trusted those llamas for years with the most important jobs on the island, they _completely betray _us… and you're just worried about their scientific procedure?"

"You can't draw conclusions from an experiment with that many variables," Hank defended. "You learn that in like, seventh grade. These are supposed to be _intergalactic sociologists _for god's sakeand they don't know how to set up a conclusive experiment? That's pathetic."

"They like drama," Chris repeated. He sighed. "They wanted me to act like Alex's biggest fan, so I did. Eventually, everyone else figured the music _must_ be good, listened to the new singles, and got hooked on the nostalgia."

PJ finally spoke, "You… you did that all for me? To protect me?"

"Well yeah," Chris answered quietly. "You're my friend."

"But, I really thought you were…" PJ trailed off, ashamed.

"It's okay," Chris assured. "Everyone did."

Ben nodded knowingly and looked back over at John and Hank. "So what do you want to do now?" he asked.

Just then, the screen behind the stage switched on and filled with static. The citizens gasped as the image slowly became clearer.

"Hello?" a familiar voice said quietly through the screen. He was sitting in what appeared to be a ship, speaking into a laptop. "Hello? Can you hear me?"

"Oh my god, is that French?" John asked.

"Yes, it is me," French, the llama, said quickly, his image finally coming through. "I do not like this 'Skype' system you have—very unreliable. Anyway, listen carefully because I am not supposed to be speaking to you—we were instructed to cut all contact with the humans at the culmination of this experiment."

John was about to protest, but Ben held up a finger to silence him. "Go on," Ben said to the screen.

"First of all, know that _I _pressed for us to remain on the island to attempt to sort out some of the damage we had caused," French said quickly, "or at least to stay until Monsieur Lester regained his sight, but I was overruled."

"Regained his sight?" Dan demanded. "How?!"

"We are a relatively medically advanced species," French explained. "We have developed this ocular/facial reconstruction ointment. It works by targeting the cells responsible for—"

"_French_?" a muffled female voice cut him off, "_À qui est-ce que vous parlez ?!"_

"_Personne!_" he called back before turning back to the screen and whispering, "She heard us—we will skip the science. It is basically like 'Rogaine', but for your face. We have been using it on him already—that is why he was healing so quickly. Trust me on this."

"Why should we?" demanded Hank. "You lied to us! You tried to poison Alex with his own music! You started a war! You—"

"And for these things, I apologise profusely," French cut him off, "but please understand I was only following orders. Now, listen, I left the bottle in the top drawer of Phil's bedside table, understand? It is called '_Visagegaine'_ and you apply it to the affected area three times a day. Wear gloves. Side effects may include—"

"_French! Ouvre la porte maintenant!_" the other voice commanded, banging loudly on the door.

"Actually, forget the side effects," French said hastily. "The side effect of _not_ using it is blindness, so I assume he would prefer 'slight tingling sensations and possible discolouration' to that." He called back, "_Un moment, Clarice!_"

"Do you understand what you need to do?" French asked, turning back to the camera.

"Uh…" Hank answered.

"I must go. I wish you all the best in your future endeavors, Nerdfighteria. Please, do not forget to be awesome. Oh, and do sell this island—utopias do not exist. _Au revoir!_"

And with that, the screen went blank.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: HUGE MEGA THANKS to Gina (tumblr: ficster28) and Brittani (tumblr: brittstickz) for editing all 40,000+ words of this and to Alex (tumblr: philslesters) for making us art! Now go check out the epilogues... they're... uh, special.**


	15. Epilogues

**Epilogues - In Which Your Many Authors and Betas Make An Attempt At Clearing Things Up**

* * *

><p>AN: (Fun fact - this story was originally planned to be a one-shot. Oops.)

So one of the most interesting aspects of working on a story with 15 other people, is that everyone develops their own head canon about how the story should end. Rather than agreeing on one epilogue, we thought it might be fun to just give you _all of them_ and turn this into a **choose your own epilogue adventure.**

(And if you don't like any of these, feel free to create your own and post it in the reviews (we'll probably edit you in!) - this story has no rules anymore)

You ready for this? Here we go!

* * *

><p><strong>(Chelsea's Epilogue)<strong>

"This!? THIS is what you've brought me!?" Commandant Bouchard shouted, waving a stack of papers in one hand.

"How is it possible that with six of my best researchers and five _years_—not to mention, at a cost of 500,000 couronne—that _this_ is what you came up with? Was there some kind of crash landing? Did you all hit your heads and forget every shred of training and every bit of common sense you ever had? There is a thing called 'the scientific method,' you might recall," he drawled. "There is no excuse for this… this _rubbish. _It's completely unusable!"

"Well," offered Felix in a small, timid voice, "We _do_ know that NO3589 works. We might not really know anything about the appropriate dosage, or the longevity of effects, or the withdrawal symptoms…"

His rambling trailed off, as he realized belatedly that he'd strayed back into decidedly _un_helpful territory, but Felix was only briefly deterred.

"And..." he stuttered, diving right back in, "and by all accounts, the CO2345 was a rousing success. All the humans trusted young Christopher implicitly!"

Felix thought for just a moment more. "And I have some truly lovely photographs from Big Sur."

While Felix finished his pronouncement looking quite pleased with himself, the Commandant could only stare, fury and disbelief churning in his gut. The rest of the team visibly wilted with mortification and guilt.

Clarice sighed audibly, wondering, for approximately the 1297th time, just what on Drame could have ever possessed her to marry that man.

* * *

><p><strong>(Lilly's Epilogue)<strong>

(A Haiku)

Llamas proceeded

To enslave other cultures

With complex French lies

{hón hón hón}

* * *

><p><strong>(Naomi's Epilogue)<strong>

"Are you ready for this?" Liam asked.

"Yeah, I think so." Brad sighed.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. They just looked at each other, at the cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly in the corner, and at the new designer coffee table.

"I still can't believe that after all we went through, all this—" Brad gestured to the expensive furniture, "—we've ended up here."

Just then, Ben walked into the room. "What are you still doing backstage? We're on in three!" He looked exasperated. "And I thought I told someone to get rid of all these boxes! Fucking hell — what are they still doing here? What's even in them?"

Bursting with excitement, Brad stage-whispered, "That's them!"

"No way…" Ben shook his head in disbelief.

Brad nodded vigorously.

Ben knelt down and opened one of the boxes, peering inside. He pulled out a book and gasped. "The first editions!"

"Still don't know why they delivered them here…" Liam muttered.

Ben ignored him and read aloud, "_The Nerd Wars: Llamas in the Night _by Brad and Liam WOTO—Forward by Benjamin Cook."

"Go on," Brad prompted, grinning, "read the back."

Ben began to read aloud from the lavishly illustrated back cover. "The long awaited sequel to _New York Times _bestselling novel '_The Nerd Wars: Island of Lies' _will have you on the edge of your seat. Join Ben Cook and the YouTube Crew for the next installment of interviews that will keep you turning the pages way past your bedtime. What happens after the llamas leave Nerdfighteria in ruins—taking the roof with them? Find out in _The Nerd Wars: Llamas in the Night_!"

"Enough self-promoting!" Alex poked his head through the door.

"You're one to talk!" Brad shot back.

They all laughed.

Alex said, "I was sent to get you."

Liam grinned wolfishly. "It's showtime."

And with that they walked onto the VidCon mainstage, hoards of fans screaming their names and waving books in the air for the premier of "_Island of Lies: The Movie"._

* * *

><p><strong>(Brittani's Epilogue)<strong>

Dan paced worriedly up and down the hall, waiting outside of Phil's hospital room—the sooner Phil got his bandages off, the sooner they could leave the island once and for all. A nurse poked her head out of Phil's room, looking concerned.

"Mr. Howell?" she asked. Dan walked back over, feeling his heartbeat rise. This is it.

"Uh, yeah. That's me. Is Phil alright? Are the bandages off? Can he see?" he fired off, wringing his hands. She pursed her lips.

"Well, er, yes to all three, but… there was some… complications. You can see him now, though," she offered, stepping aside and opening the door wider to let him in.

Dan frowned, wondering what the complications could be, but stepped in anyway. The curtain was drawn around Phil's bed—the horrid, floral curtains—and another nurse was standing next to them, poking her head through and talking to Phil in an undertone. She stepped back and walked over to Dan, pale.

"Mr. Lester doesn't know yet. I don't know how to tell him. None of us do. You should, you're his friend," she whispered.

Dan narrowed his eyes. "Wait, doesn't know what?"

She shook her head. "You'll see," she assured him, stepping back.

Dan gulped, walking towards Phil's bed. He drew back the curtain, and saw Phil sitting there, looking confused—with a vivid purple stripe across his eyes. Dan covered his mouth, not knowing whether he wanted to gasp or laugh.

Phil groaned. "Hey, Dan. Good to see you again—literally. It's been a while. Now, will you tell me what's wrong? Every time the nurses see me they either look like they're about to faint or are trying not to laugh."

Dan gulped. "Well, uh—you look mostly the same, so there's that," he started, sitting on a chair next to Phil's bed. "But, er…" he pulled out his phone and set it to the front camera, handing it over to Phil so he could see himself.

Phil gasped. "THEY TURNED MY FACE PURPLE!?"

* * *

><p><strong>(Gina's Epilogue)<strong>

There once was a llama called French,

Whose peers got some nerds in a clench.

The islanders, scared,

Believed all of their merde

But Ben Cook soon discovered the stench!

* * *

><p><strong>(Emma's Epilogue)<strong>

Everything returned to normal, to a certain extent.

Although, after such an ordeal, complete normality (even with normality being a relative term) was unattainable. But everyone tried their best.

Alex, albeit considerably shaken, managed to become a functioning member of society after a few more weeks of recovery and plenty of assistance and support from both Carrie and Charlie.

Jack and Dean returned to everyday life quite quickly, even managing to upload a video after a few months while the others had simply said that they needed breaks for a while. The feedback was as positive as ever.

The WOTO boys had plenty of thinking to do before they made another step. They decided they needed to focus on being nicer, especially after they had taken account for what they said to Carrie.

Tyler Oakley and Hazel Hayes' recoveries were quite similar. They returned to the YouTube scene after a couple of weeks, with a surprisingly few amount of questions asked.

Chris and PJ, not having suffered too much trauma in comparison to everyone else at least, made their way back to what they now considered everyday life.

Dan and Phil's recovery was quite possibly the most interesting, given the fact that Phil started without vision. But he regained it quickly, to his delight, and that of Dan as well. They settled down into normality, although everyone involved in what they referred to as 'The Incident' had their ideas of normality changed. But nonetheless, they settled back into routine. Their subscribers didn't suspect a thing.

But they were a tad confused at Dan's sudden wariness of llamas.

* * *

><p><strong>(Stephanie's Epilogue)<strong>

A solitary llama watched, unseen, as the humans bustled about trying to fix the damage to their community. It had been difficult remaining behind, but he had managed it. He smirked, despite the fact that llamas are physically incapable of smirking. How could he abandon such a rich source of drama so quickly? Without the restraints of sentiment and science that had bound the other researchers, this llama was now free to wreak true havoc as Drama Llama Supreme.

A teenage girl tilted her head. She thought she'd heard an evil laugh. After a moment, she shook her head. It must have been the wind.

* * *

><p><strong>(My Epilogue)<strong>

It was three weeks after the incident. Plumes of smoke rose from the destroyed surface of the island where the bombs had hit. The smell of sulphur filled Hank Green's nostrils as he gazed over the landscape, a crazed glint in his eyes. _Finally_, he thought_, the drama is gone._

* * *

><p><strong>(Boots' Epilogue)<strong>

_Wednesday, February 5, 2014_

(3:13 PM)

Chris plopped down on the couch next to PJ, who'd already begun work on the video they'd just made. "So," he began with a click of his tongue, "this is the only evidence we have that Nerdfighteria ever existed."

"No." PJ shook his head and turned away from the computer as Dan and Phil took the armchair and floor space in front of it. "This is a video depicting what would happen if alien llamas came down from space and began performing experiments on citizens who tried to create a utopia."

Phil snorted. "Can you imagine what our fans would think if we tried to tell them this really happened?"

"They'd have my head for almost blinding you," Dan muttered, stretching and trying to find a more comfortable position on the chair.

"Still…" Chris sighed, "crazy to think just three months ago, four hundred nerds were living on an island together. I wonder what they're up to now."

"Well, Ciaran uploaded a new video to his channel, chalking him up to… four." PJ snickered. "And I think he filmed Jack and Dean's latest video."

"Hank and John are good, they and their families moved back into their old houses after they sold the island. I was really hoping they'd just blow the damn thing up, keep something like that from happening again," Dan grumbled.

"Heard they donated the money from the island to a French charity that uses llama wool to make clothing for homeless people," Phil added.

"You're kidding," Chris giggled.

"Nope, I was talking to Charlie the other day about it." Phil grinned. "Oh, and he also told me Alex is doing MUCH better, he's had a couple of panic attacks since he was released from the hospital, but he's mostly fine."

There was a moment of silence as the boys reflected before PJ spoke again, "Hey Chris, I never did thank you for… y'know, pretending to be insane so the llamas wouldn't kill me."

"S'alright," Chris mumbled. "Now finish that video so we never have to think about it again."

* * *

><p><strong>(A's Epilogue)<strong>

"Finally all that chaos is over," Jack sighed as he continued editing his and Dean's newest video.

"I dunno, I thought it was fun!" Dean said from another room.

"You're kidding, right?! Please tell me you're kidding!" Jack exclaimed.

"Come on, Jack, it was an adventure! Plus, I now have a new nickname for you," Dean teased.

"Don't. Don't you dare," Jack said firmly.

Dean appeared with a piece of paper with a sad face scribbled on with marker.

"What's that for?"

"Dean sobs," Dean pouted.

"Oh, haha. Fine, I guess before all the craziness happened it was sort of an adventure."

"Okay, Jack, the next time we go to an island populated by French aliens who take the form of llamas and experiment on us to the point where we help start a war, I'll make sure it's extra adventure-y for you," Dean said sarcastically.

"Gee, thanks!" Jack exclaimed before taking the sad face, crumpling it up, and throwing it at Dean's face.

"Looks like the Jack Rabbit isn't in a good mood," Dean muttered.

Jack just shot him an evil glare, and then went back to finish editing.

* * *

><p><strong>(Holly's Epilogue)<strong>

_Five Years Later_

"Life more or less ceased to exist on Nerdfighteria Island, with many residents opting to move back to their hometowns. Tyler was offered a job as a spy for the CIA – this time with a laminated badge. Alex, once he finished rehab, moved in with Carrie. Carrie is currently engaged in convincing Alex to open a cattery, in the misguided belief that this will prove therapeutic for him. Brad and Liam finally received a primetime show on Channel 5, where they are continuing the fight against low ratings with whatever drama they can find. Hazel got her job with Google back. Jack and Dean have started production on a new series of films starring themselves. Chris threw himself into acting too, and in the few short years since his return has received a BAFTA for his television work, and moreover is in the running for an Oscar. PJ went quite literally back to the drawing board and has recently opened up an interactive gallery showcasing all his work. John has gone back to his work of making thousands of teenagers cry, and Hank… well, he's back to everything he did before Nerdfighteria, which is to say, far too much.

"As for Dan and Phil, they moved back to London and on arrival were more or less offered the Breakfast Show straightaway, the ratings of the request show having bombed without them. The job for them was a dream come true, although Dan was highly disappointed to discover that this did not in fact mean that he could wake up at five in the afternoon - more like three in the morning."

Ben rolled his eyes, and then smiled at the camera. "Until next time, I'm Ben Cook and this has been the story of Nerdfighteria Island."

* * *

><p><strong>(Val's Epilogue)<strong>

"And every decade," John Green concluded solemnly, "we buy an island."

* * *

><p><strong>(Jamie's Epilogue)<strong>

For Jamie's epilogue, click on the link near the top of my profile (it's worth it, guys)

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Hello Lovely Reader!**

**You made it! Thank you so much for reading our story!**

**To be perfectly honest, we didn't know if this story would be possible when we started it out. It was an experiment. Could 16 people possibly work together to write a single fic? Could a story be told non-linearly from 13 POVs and still make any sort of sense? Could we say 'yes' to everyone's ideas and still come out with something vaguely coherent in the end?**

**Well, I'm not sure if we ever found out the answers to those questions (perhaps you should be the judge of that), but I do know that creating this story was an amazing experience and I've truly enjoyed getting to work with everyone involved.**

**Thank you so much for sticking to the end! Please let us know what you thought in reviews!**

**Best wishes,**

**~Bethany**


End file.
